


A Couple of Goths

by UndeadRelations



Category: South Park
Genre: College, Friendship, Goth - Freeform, M/M, PWP, Slice of Life, Smut, curly goth - Freeform, life - Freeform, red goth - Freeform, tall goth - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1469836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndeadRelations/pseuds/UndeadRelations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Pete (red goth) goes off to his conformist college a lonely Michael (curly/tall goth) is left to cope. Will their friendship progress or stagnate? Pete/Michael</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Supersede

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: While I do not own these characters or the town of South Park, I did conceive of the story which is thus my intellectual property. Enjoy!

It wasn't as if Pete had a particular interest in trying to look more feminine, he had just been obsessive about his complexion as of recent. Having graduated high school Pete was hanging out with Michael to welcome the beginning of summer who sat cross-legged on the floor of his purple carpeted bedroom. Michael had dropped out years ago and spent the majority of his time working in his mom's arts and crafts store or hanging around in the darkness of his room. He went to adult education classes in the evening so that he could pass the test to earn his GED after realizing that working in the family business was not the only job he wanted to have for the rest of his life. Pete had been quietly insistent that he do so as well, especially since he'd be going off to college within the following year. He didn't want his best friend's life to dead-end and for them to grow into the solemn, boring conformists their parents had become.

Clutching the folding mirror in one hand and a powder application pad in the other, Pete blotted his cheek with the pale powder. He kept going over the pockmarks as if he could rub them away only to cake the foundation on.

“Give me that,” Michael demanded in monotone. Pete snapped the compact shut and tossed it over to Michael in frustration, a scowl plastered to his face. Scooting closer, Pete flicked his head to the side to get the hair from his eyes.

Still getting a grasp on the whole makeup thing, Michael watched Pete struggle through its application during the previous week. The heavy eyeliner was one thing, but trying to evolve himself in preparation to go away to college was another task altogether. With his later teens, Pete had gotten his rampant acne under control, but the scar tissue on his cheeks still speckled his complexion. Michael, being curious, had even tried to put on the full face of makeup himself as Pete had done but didn't find it pleasing. He felt like one of those gussied up ugly prostitutes who tried their best to cover their unpleasant facial structure with inadequate means. Not matter how much shit Michael smothered on his skin, it wouldn't mask the strong build of his nose.

Michael had hoped this was just another of Pete's sporadic obsessions which withered away in a month due to his indecisive nature. But today Pete wasn't laying it on so heavily and had even found the right foundation to match his skin tone. Michael wiped away the caking of inconsistent powder Pete had applied in frustration with a damp wash cloth, then patted the cheek dry. He gently applied the stuff and though it didn't completely fill in the scarred craters in Pete's cheek, the blotched fading pink became one smooth color as though the scars had finished healing. He took the large application brush to smooth over the powder and blend it into Pete's natural skin so there was no evident border.

“There,” Michael said in finality, passing the hand mirror beside him over to Pete. He lifted it to peer at himself and his expression softened as he swooped his hair to the side to get a better view.

“Oh,” Pete said softly. This time there was no awkward line along his jaw of miscolored foundation too orangy against the white of his neck. Even the slight natural pink of his cheeks was concealed which made his eyes the only real color of his features. Pete smiled then glanced up at Michael who eyed him with that flat expression. “Thanks,” he added before rising quickly to his feet to cross the room to the hair straightener which had just beeped behind him.

In truth this makeup thing kind of suited Pete after all, he just hadn't been doing it right the first couple of times. Michael was a little conflicted. He'd felt himself drawn to cute guys in school for their external appearance on a purely aesthetic interest, but their personalities repelled him. The closest he'd come to really liking someone in a romantic sense had been little Firkle when the kid grew up. He had kind of retained his baby-faced appearance and Michael found himself drawn to the adorable teen until he turned into kind of an asshole. Or perhaps he'd always been an asshole and it just took Michael too long to realize it. Either way the kindergartner of their group once upon a time ago had fallen into a trendy crowd in his age group come middle school. They were the “hardcore” kids, listening to intense screaming noise that absolutely drove Michael up the wall and their friendship had broken. Pete still talked to Firkle every once in a while.

Michael watched Pete finish straightening his hair for the second time today then line his eyes. Finally he sat back down.

“Come here,” Michael said without really thinking as he picked up the watermelon chap stick he bought when they went out to Sally's earlier that day. He popped the cap off as Pete leaned toward him expectantly; sharing the application of makeup had been commonplace ever since they discovered Pete's mother's eyeliner in youth. Michael brought the stick to Pete's lips to coat them carefully, his slight compulsive nature kicking in, as he eyed his movements closely. The sweet watermelon smell pleasantly graced Michael's senses as he capped the tube and sat back to look over his work.

“Oh,” Michael said quickly as he lifted a hand to wipe along the underside of Pete's lower lip where he'd gone over the natural pink edge. Conscious of his actions, Michael pressed a little more roughly than necessary, so that it would be taken as an afterthought, not as potential flirtation. He sat upright again and met Pete's eyes. Perhaps a slight sheen to his lips made Pete look a little too feminine for the taste of the mass public, but it was certainly flattering in that moment.

“Let me see,” Pete said as he lifted the mirror again. He grinned more fully this time, the kind of smile he made when he couldn't contain the happiness he felt with that dull facade. Then Pete hunched over a little, self-conscious in his apparent beauty, a gesture which he'd only recently exposed to Michael as the anxiety of going away to school exposed him. Pete diverted his eyes.

He was so fucking cute.

Michael leaned forward without thought, cupping Pete's jaw in one hand as he licked at the fruit gloss of his lips. Michael's own lips closed into a kiss and Pete absolutely froze, his body ridged. As though he'd been burned, Pete gathered himself and shoved Michael frantically all in an instant. Catching himself from falling backwards, Michael watched Pete shoot to his feet as rage consumed his face.

“Why do you have to do faggoty shit like that!” Pete said quickly. Though he was attempting to yell, his voice was still soft, biting with tone rather than volume. It had happened a few times before when Michael had gotten that intense urge to kiss someone and acted before he could really think about it logically. He'd kissed Pete when they'd been drunk at a party a few times, expecting him not to remember, then more recently as he watched his best friend grow into himself. “I'm out!”

Michael got to his feet as his face betrayed his usually stoic expression and his eyebrows V-ed. Pete knelt on the floor to vigorously scoop his brand new makeup into its case then turned on his heels before Michael could elicit a decent comeback. Storming over to where his straightener was plugged in, he yanked the chord from the wall before even turning it off. Throwing Michael's bedroom door open Pete sped down the hall as the knob smacked the wall.

Hesitating, Michael followed Pete but was yards behind him. When he got to the front door Pete was already to the other end of the driveway. All he could do was shout after him.

“Have fun going to college Peter! You fucking conformist!” Michael yelled in frustration before slamming the door. “Dammit!” he said to himself. That wasn't what he'd meant to say at all! How fucking immature.

They'd fought like this a few times before and it was always over Michael's careless romantic actions, but Pete always came back. They were best friends, how could he not come back?

But as the summer drew on, Michael found that Pete didn't come back this time. He was busy moving to a college town just outside Denver to stay with his aunt, the enthusiastic woman who had helped him through the process of choosing a university. Consumed in his interests and direction in life, Pete sought out the new opportunities and interactions that lay before him rather than looking back.


	2. Redirect

It wasn't for several months, when Pete came back to visit his family, that Michael managed to see him.

It was the off season in his mother's art store so Michael picked up a job at one of the two small convenience stores in South Park. He quickly found that without school or a job sitting at home with no obligations only lead to depression so he didn't mind finding a new place to work. Being a night owl, Michael could work late hours, sleep in during the day, and live the schedule that suited him best. However, this same convenience store was the one he and Pete used to walk to to buy cigarettes since they were friends with one of the employees back in high school. It wasn't something that really crossed Michael's mind when applying, it was just a familiar store where he'd be comfortable working.

One particular night, while he was restocking the cigarettes behind the front counter, Michael turned to see a familiar face he hadn't expected. There stood Pete, second in line, looking down at his shoes to divert his eyes from Michael. The curly haired man behind the desk decided that if Pete wasn't going to look at him then he could use the chance to give his friend a look over.

Pete still had his hair dyed black but with only a few red streaks this time. The pock marks on his cheeks weren't discolored, so the curly haired man assumed he'd been applying the makeup all this time, but Michael wouldn't have noticed otherwise. Michael noted that Pete was sans chap stick this time. He wore a black short sleeved over shirt with a hood and zipper up the front over a red undershirt. Pete's black capris were rolled up above his knees with those familiar black shoes with the pointed toes. He'd obviously toned down from the style he wore in high school but he still looked goth in a subtle, slightly conformist sort of way. Pete's new style was kind of cute, just because of who he was and the way his outfit outlined his trim body. Pete had thinned down a little too, perhaps from taking on a busier schedule than he'd had in the monotonous confines of South Park.

Then there were the small silver snakebites along Pete's lower lip which accentuated the glint of a small bead of his right nostril. That was new. Though Pete's lip had been done through early high school he had taken it out for a brief job at some point. The familiar piercings in Pete's ear which Michael had done for him in middle school were even gauged.

Michael's tummy ached in wonder because he had no idea what Pete had been up to and it hurt. Aside from the dress code he had to obey for the convenience store, Michael hadn't really changed at all. He was the same tall, pasty guy with the sharp nose, bony features and naturally dark curls atop his head. Michael fiddled with the register to hand back some change to the customer, his body on autopilot. As that man left, Pete came forward and Michael felt his heartbeat pickup. For all the time they'd spent together growing up Michael could guess what Pete was thinking and could probably be right but instead his mind whirled with anxiety.

“Hey. Can I get a pack of Newports?” Pete said with that familiar soft voice, tainted with nonchalance. If he felt any bit like Michael did, he didn't show it, and that possibility of Pete being indifferent to his existence fucking hurt. Michael nodded shortly in response then turned to grab Newports from the shelf. He returned to the register and as he punched in a few buttons he dared to say anything to break this silence between them.

“How's school?” Michael asked lamely as he rang up the small box of cigarettes. Way to be eloquent, he thought briefly.

“It's fine,” Pete answered vaguely and he paused. “How's life?” he continued as if he was obligated to reciprocate.

“It goes,” Michael replied flatly. “Will this be all?”

“Yeah,” Pete took out his coffin shaped wallet Michael had gifted him in early high school and the curly man's heart ached a little. He handed a five across the counter and Michael longed to hang out with his old friend in a rush of nostalgia.

“Do you have any free time while you're in town?” Michael asked as he made change.

“No, I leave tomorrow morning on the bus,” again Pete paused but this time in consideration. “I didn't have much extra time this trip,” he added more gently, as though he regretted not being able to spend more time with Michael. The tall man behind the counter smiled softly as he watched Pete sweep the black and red bangs from his eyes with his fingertips. Michael closed the drawer and handed the receipt and change to Pete who he was pleased to see didn't leave right away.

“That's alright, maybe next time,” Michael responded with more bitterness than he intended.

“Yes,” Pete agreed. Again he hesitated, but Pete finally looked Michael in the eye as he spoke. “I'll be in town again in three weeks for Fall Break.”

“See you then?” Michael asked.

“Yeah,” Pete said with a soft smile. Michael looked after him as he turned for the door and the bell rang as he pushed it open. Then Pete turned back to wave gently at Michael with that same smile, only this time it exposed an underlying melancholy that caught Michael by surprise. Maybe Pete really did miss him too.

“Bye,” Michael mouthed as he rose his hand in response. He watched Pete through the large windows who paused just outside the building to cup his hands and light the cigarette he pursed between his lips. Michael's eyes traced the familiar movement of Pete's casual stride until he went around the building and out of sight. Michael wished he could walk Pete home and sighed. At least he could look forward to Pete's return. He smiled to himself, three weeks should go buy quick enough and another customer approached the counter. The rest of his night restocking the shelves and ringing up the occasional customer was filled with hopeful contemplation.

 

When those three weeks passed Michael only managed to see Pete for a few hours and they just acted like they always had, although a little awkwardly. Michael was disappointed their visit was so brief but pleased Pete took the initiative to tell him he was in town. With a taste of a visit from his best friend Michael was confronted with the distance between them. When Pete expressed the convenience of having a page on a massive social networking site to keep up with family and friends, Michael was hesitant and turned down the idea. What was more conformist that having a page on one of those sites?

For nearly a month Michael longed to at least speak with Pete, but the shorter goth was busy with school and he thought he might be imposing to ask the two hours of time it would take them to talk to one another on the phone. After Pete repeatedly recommended Michael sign up for his own page on that damned social networking site the curly haired man gave in.

“That way we can chat when I'm available online and you don't have to worry about interrupting my classes and club activities with texting,” Pete had explained rather convincingly.

Michael quickly found that their chat sessions at the end of each day lit up his world. Most everyone he knew in South Park his age had moved away to go to school or was a complete bumbling idiot, the likes of which drove Michael up the wall. Pete was perhaps the only consistently positive, steady social interaction in his life. Not to mention there was always something new going on with Pete and Michael thought his life paled in comparison.

Michael even took to creating the little blurbs and doodle journals like what he'd created back in high school again. Despite how boring he found himself to be, the little bit of creating he did made Michael feel a little more worthy of Pete who had always been a writer. Though their little group of goths had always written bad poetry back in elementary school, Pete found writing to be his passion. Michael found himself living a little vicariously through the new things Pete was always doing or writing at school and he began to loath the uneventful confines of South Park.

Then Pete expressed the loneliness he experienced with having gone off to a school outside of his home town. Michael was surprised to find that the quiet, though relatively sociable and interesting Pete found making friends difficult, and the curly haired man could sympathize with him. Perhaps Pete only seemed so open and friendly to Michael because they'd known each other and been friends so long. Even though Pete was surrounded by others his age pursuing their passions he didn't feel there was much potential to any of them being friends. As Pete found Michael to be his confidant all over again, the younger goth grew to expose a little more about his very personal relations. Michael was a little surprised to learn that Pete had already dated or had flings with a couple of club attendees and classmates here and there. As Pete talked about a few vague experiences, Michael listened with a subtle jealously, trying not to let the emotion flow over. Then Pete said 'he' and Michael's eyes bulged.

Since middle school Michael always expected that Pete was interested in both sexes at least, but he never dated and it made his orientation hard to discern for sure. Though hearing about Pete's social interactions made Michael a little jealous, a light of hope gathered in him as he learned that Pete was indeed interested in men after all. His search for a partner was coming up empty handed and Michael was even more reassured that perhaps Pete had already found his soul mate, he just hadn't realized who it was for sure. Michael's tenancy to be a hopeless romantic consumed his writings and scribblings for the following month. It was a guilty pleasure he reassured himself he would never have to share with the rest of the world.

As Michael expressed interest in Pete's everyday life, the younger goth asked him if he might be interested in paying the campus a visit. Trying not to make it obvious that he was jumping at he opportunity, Michael responded with a passive 'Sure' and Pete with an 'Okay.'

Michael was to take the bus in two weeks and he couldn't wait for the monotonous days to pass as he stood behind the counter of the convenience store.


	3. Wistful

When Micheal arrived in the college town Pete was there waiting for him at the station as he stepped off the bus. They got on the small trolley that ran through town, dropped off Micheal's bag in Pete's room in his aunt's house, then went on a walking tour of the college campus which was admittedly rather lovely at the end of March. Micheal and Pete walked through the blooming garden behind the library, their darkness contrasting with the colorful scenery.

“What would you like to do for dinner?” Pete asked Micheal who had just extracted a pack of cigarettes from the side of his small over the shoulder bag and was offering it to him. Micheal only shrugged in response; it wasn't as if he knew anyplace to eat in this town, and Pete responded shortly, “I quit.” Micheal, his hand still extended, looked down at his pack of cigarettes with his own cig dangling between his lips in bewilderment.

“You quit?” he asked, looking back up at Pete as though he'd misheard him. The young man with the red streak only shrugged in response as Micheal finally lowered his hand and put the pack away.

“Trying to quit some bad habits,” Pete finalized as Micheal brought his lighter to the tip of his cigarette, cupping his other hand around the flame that burst from it.

“Uh, alright,” Micheal commented, resisting the urge to call Pete a conformist as he sucked in the chemical smoke and exhaled. Frankly, Micheal was beginning to grow frustrated that that same childhood mentality haunted him at times. The smoke hung around them briefly and Micheal couldn't help but notice when Pete tilted his head slightly toward the source of the smoke and inhaled deeply.

“Alberta's,” Pete said suddenly and Micheal glanced at him, awaiting explanation.

When they got to Alberta's a diner with a few umbrella topped tables out front Micheal stepped ahead to open the door for Pete. Appreciating the gesture, Pete froze mid step in the front doorway, Micheal nearly walking into him. Turning sharply on his heels, Pete took Micheal's arm as he walked back out of the diner, dragging the tall, bewildered man in his wake.

“What was that about?” Micheal asked Pete who scowled at the question.

“I forgot it was my ex who originally showed me that diner,” Pete said softly. “He was sitting in the back.”

Micheal nodded, momentarily wishing he'd paid more attention to the people that were there for the split second he was too. Despite his nagging curiosity and the numerous questions that arose in his mind, Micheal resisted the urge to ask Pete about the relationship.

For two more blocks they walked in the opposite direction they'd come, talking briefly about an older goth band that broke up ten years prior who was going to be returning with new material. Pete gestured toward a small storefront with large glass display windows featuring bizarre and macabre items. The cafe very much appeared to be a dark hole in the wall and Micheal quickly approved. Admiring a metal bird in a bone birdcage, Micheal opened the door for Pete again who thanked him very quietly.

They sat at a two person table, Micheal in the chair and Pete in the booth seat as they raised their menus. A waitress took their orders then Micheal remembered something and unclasped his bag to shuffle around in it. Extracting a black notebook and a pack of pens, Micheal slid the items across the table as though he wanted to resist touching them.

“Fran insisted I give these to you,” Micheal said, rolling his eyes slightly at the mention of his own mother. “I told her it was juvenile and that you only liked the gel pen on black paper thing back in middle school before it became a fad, but she wouldn't let it go.” Micheal rested his chin on his hand and elbow on the table in slight embarrassment as he finished, “So here.” He was a little surprised when Pete's eyes lit up with a nostalgic expression, chuckling gently through his flat composure.

“I kind of miss these,” Pete said sheepishly, eying the glistening ink within the pens. He looked up at Micheal, “Tell your mom I said thanks.”

Micheal wanted to tell Pete how he had found this old poem with doodles under his bed that he'd done back in middle school with the gel pen on black paper. After he hung it on his wall Micheal's mom happened to see it to the tall goth's dismay, and she decided Pete should be gifted the silly things despite his age. But Pete didn't need to know all of that, especially since the poem had been for a girl Pete admired that Micheal was suppose to deliver and kept for himself instead.

“Sure,” Micheal returned, watching with slight envy at how unashamedly Pete could reveal his inner child at times.

After a few moments their food came out and a nagging pressed upon Micheal.

“Why did you break up?” he asked. Pete avoided his eyes, looking instead down at his food.

“Huh?” Pete asked, supposedly oblivious to the subject at hand.

“You and the Alberta's guy,” Micheal said flatly. Pete's head seemed to dip a little so that his expression was concealed.

“E ldn't s a ndm,” Pete said shyly.

“What?” Micheal asked, Pete talking too quietly for it to be audible.

“He wouldn't use a condom,” Pete said, raising his head a little, deciding it was stupid to be shy about anything toward his best friend. “So I walked out,” he finished, looking up into Micheal's face.

“Oh,” Micheal said, his expression flat but his mind reeling behind his dark eyes. He could just imagine Pete and some faceless guy getting ready to have sex when the younger goth tears open a condom and the guy tells him not to use it. Then Pete gets up without a word while the guy has his dick sticking obscenely out of his trousers and watches as he walks out the door. Micheal wanted to clap and say 'good show' to Pete in a burst of enthusiasm for the red streaked goth standing up for himself. It wasn't as if Pete hadn't always been relatively outspoken, Micheal just couldn't anticipate how he'd be in that situation. That would be one less wrong man making moves on his best friend anyway, and that was something.

“It just reminded me of that girl back at South Park High who slept with her boyfriend and contracted Chlamydia or whatever it was. Then that rumor spread about how he refused to use a condom with her and they went and got married,” Pete continued, shuddering at the mention of marriage more than the STD he'd never experienced first hand. “She acted like no one else would have her and that them sharing that disease alienated her, making them destined for each other. I don't know if she was just stupid, but I don't want to have ludicrous delusions like that over sex.” Micheal nodded in understanding, having forgotten about that whole situation in high school and didn't even torture himself by conceiving Pete in that situation. After all, Kenny's girlfriend had been good on the eyes but not at all there. “Or anything for that matter,” Pete said a moment later in finality.

That last sentence brought a touch of anxiety over Micheal. What else did Pete have that brought on ludicrous delusions in his life? Surely he wouldn't consider it a delusion if he ever considered that he and Micheal might be capable of a deeper relationship. Micheal sighed audibly.

“What is it?” Pete asked.

“Just relieved, that's all,” Micheal said with a reassuring half-grin. It wasn't a total lie so he figured having supposedly sighed over it was reasonable. He could use a drink.

Stopping a waitress in passing, Micheal ordered a White Russian and Pete spoke up.

“Oh, and a Bloody Mary,” and Micheal glanced up at Pete who smiled. “I forget about drinks sometimes,” Pete admitted as the waitress walked behind the bar.

 

“My knees feel wobbly,” Micheal said as he looked down at his clumsy stride.

“That was only one drink. Don't you drink anymore?” Pete asked.

“Not since you were home,” Micheal answered and Pete looked down at his feet too. Recalling their last argument only briefly, Pete grew a little shy remembering it had been because Micheal kissed him again. Since then Pete had embraced that side of himself he'd been so nervous about throughout his youth, or at least as much as his somewhat introverted personality would allow. Moving to an entirely different town left him a new person surrounded by people who didn't know him. Though Pete had hoped to make countless friends and submerse himself in what would be his crazy college days, he found his personality maintained certain restrictions.

Pete indulged in romances conceived from joining clubs where he knew he'd meet like-minded people. Then he would suddenly stop attending the club altogether once the relationship went sour which was all too quickly for Pete's taste. These college kids lived in the moment, a mentality Pete had gotten over long before he graduated high school. Because he didn't want to come off as too edgy and turn people away, Pete never shared his taste in music or the macabre and let his goth side be just surface deep to those around him. 

But Pete quickly grew weary of that delusion, and now he longed for something that wasn't so ephemeral. He found himself with little to talk about and wound up just seeming boring to everyone he met. Pete would come home and boot up his computer to find he did have someone to talk to after all, who knew everything about him and who would be interested in him no matter what. Pete remembered this same person walked beside him now, along the eight blocks or so it would take to get back to his Aunt's house.

Trying to make himself think nothing of it, Pete reached his hand out a little to the side and caught Micheal's. A little startled, Micheal's heart leaped as Pete took his hand and didn't release it. Though Micheal was briefly concerned that they were in public, he told his mind to shut the fuck up; it was night when they were only illuminated by occasional street lights and headlights, the sidewalks barren. Without a word they continued to walk.

Pete contemplated further, wondering why he'd been so hesitant to engage in a deeper relationship with Micheal. He supposed he didn't want to settle when there might be someone else out there, after all, what was the likelihood they belonged together after meeting each other in elementary school? Then he didn't want to deteriorate their best friend status with breaking up either, but Pete felt he was past this consideration.

Maybe he was hesitant because Micheal was even more boring than he was. Micheal dropped out of high school, but wasn't dumb, he just didn't like the social atmosphere and the idea of catering to the institutional structure. It just didn't work for him. And he earned his GED later of his own accord. Pete shrugged gently, passing off the thought line for something else. Pete would just run into a dead end thinking about things when he could have no power predicting the future; he'd just have to figure things out as they progressed just as he always had.

 

The next few days flew by and before Micheal knew it it was his last night sleeping next to Pete in his double bed before he had to catch the bus the next morning. Having a mixed drink or two that evening following dinner, Micheal lay there, slowly falling asleep as Pete timidly tried to snuggle up against him. Having assumed Micheal was already asleep, Pete was surprised and relieved when the curly haired man embraced him. It took Pete a while to fall sleep after his heart raced in his chest upon their contact, and all the while Micheal resisted the urge to kiss him. Convincing himself to take it slow so that he didn't scare Pete off, Micheal smiled into the darkness, lowering his head enough for the tip of his nose to brush red streaked hair.

Micheal remembered back in middle school when Pete's mom and step dad were getting a divorce how the shorter goth had claimed he needed to be held to sleep and the taller had obliged. It was around that time Micheal realized the potential for them to be closer than friends and slowly his feelings for Pete escalated. As they dozed off to sleep, Micheal's mind envisioned them as those middle schoolers and the comfort they shared, remembering they were now adults and the same sensation took him.

 

The following day Pete and Micheal walked to the bus station early in the morning. Parting ways with a hug, Pete kissed Micheal on the cheek with a soft smile. Micheal watched Pete leave before the bus departed so that he could get ready for his Monday morning class. He couldn't wait to visit Pete again.


	4. Constellation

Pete and Michael walked to a college party down the street from his aunt's house where there were so many people everyone was let in, and it didn't matter if you knew anyone inside. As they weaved their way through the house several people recognized and drunkenly said hello to Pete. Along the way Michael and Pete loaded their arms with whatever drinks they can get their hands on and sneaked up the stairs. They made their way to the dark third story of the large house into an unlit, off-boundary room with a rooftop balcony where they laid down on cushioned sunbathing chairs.

Michael and Pete stared up into the sky, trying to ignore the thump of the unfamiliar mainstream club music from downstairs. At least it muffled the idiotic conversations and drunken yelling of the people in the backyard below.

“Wouldn't it be nice to just be consumed by that expanse of darkness,” Michael said with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice as he waved his free hand across the sky. He drank from his cup as Pete chuckled at him.

“That was so poetic,” Pete said as he glanced toward Michael and rolled his eyes. He dug in his pocket to take out his iPhone. “Check this out though,” and he flicked and tapped his thumb expertly across the touch screen. Michael had never invested in such a nice cell phone, instead he relied on local routers to pick up the internet on his iTouch which was quickly becoming outdated. Not that he had anything better to spend his money on, and he shrugged off the fact he'd kind of just been piling up a savings with nothing better to do with his income. His thoughts cleared as Pete held his phone up to the night sky.

“Woah,” Michael said, exposing his awe. “That's pretty sweet,” he admitted as the touch screen displayed the constellation they were looking at. Pete moved it slowly across the sky just below the horizon. “You can even see what's on the other side of Earth?” Michael asked in wonder as the moon curiously came into view.

“Yeah, it says here the moon will rise in an hour,” Pete said as he read the screen.

“An hour, I can do that,” Michael said as he watched Pete continue to scan the other side of Earth for objects and eventually came across the International Space Station. “Hey, what's your zodiac sign again?”

“Oh man, you're not into that mass delusion about horoscopes are you?” Pete asked as he elbowed Michael with sarcasm in his tone.

“Of course I am,” Michael lied. “What could be more relevant than random designs in the night sky determined by Earth's particular location in the galaxy and designated as significant by ancient humans for the specific reason of determining my future?” Michael said with as serious a face as he could muster but the corners of his lips turned upward as Pete laughed beside him.

“Virgo,” Pete answered finally, still grinning gently as he leaned closer to Michael. He swung his arm around to find the constellation in the night sky before asking Michael, “What's yours?”

“Scorpio,” Michael answered and again Pete skimmed the sky. When he stopped over the location of Scorpio Pete thought aloud.

“I wonder if we're compatible,” Pete said without thinking twice about what he was insinuating. “Should I look it up?”

“Ten plus years of friendship seems compatible enough for me,” Michael answered with stubborn resignation. Honestly he just didn't want to know just in case by way of the silly horoscope their star signs weren't compatible. Anything to plant the seed of doubt in his mind about whether he and Pete had a chance, no matter how illogical the inkling, was of no interest to Michael. Instead he decided to change the subject. “Why did you decide to go to college?”

“Because I had to get out of South Park,” Pete answered slowly as he returned his phone to his pocket. “Aunt Helena provided the perfect escape plus the opportunity to keep learning.” Michael remembered that unlike himself who read avidly about a lot of subjects outside of the school curriculum Pete had difficulty doing the same. School always gave him a reason to learn and for some reason Michael couldn't quite grasp why attaining grades was an adequate reason for Pete.

“But it's pointless, isn't it?” Michael asked, reverting to his nihilistic viewpoint of things. Pete shrugged at this.

“I guess so, but what better do I have to do with my time while I'm here? Resigning to the fact that our existence holds no intrinsic value is just kind of drab. I mean, I know whatever meaning we put into things is all just a humanist illusion, but still, I don't just want to give in to monotony of things. Creating and writing is what gives me what meaning I can take from things. I just want a reason to keep doing it really.”

“Right,” Michael responded as he thought about it. Pete was happy in his pursuit of honing his writing capability so really who was Michael to ask? The question he should have been asking was to himself and what he was going to do about his lack of satisfaction with his own life. After a long pause Pete considered what he might say next, knowing that Michael would be skeptical of his claims but may understand too.

“I feel like it gives me this opportunity to have influence, not to just exist. Like how you and I were shaped and molded by the poetry we read and the music we listened to. All of that came from someone else's mind, and I might be able to be one of those minds, you know?”

Michael nodded in response. Pete had indeed already influenced at least the one person sitting next to him, and this made sense to Michael after all.

“Anyway, not to go on about drunken philosophic banter,” Pete laughed and they continued to talk into the night. Drinking quite some time after the moon rose over the horizon, Michael was startled when Pete suddenly leaped from his seat. He ran back inside, just making it to the toilet in time to spill his evening's spoils.

The Jagerbomb didn't sit so well with Pete, and as he vomited into the toilet, Michael couldn't help but stay back until his heaving was over or else he'd become nauseous himself. Finally, the retching came to an end after many minutes and Michael heard the toilet flush.

“Are you alright?” he asked, genuinely concerned as he stood in the doorway. At first Pete only groaned in response and Michael was worried he might not be finished throwing up after all.

“I just threw up black sludge,” Pete answered miserably as he lifted his head from the toilet to look at Michael, “But I do feel a lot better.”

“Think you have anything left that needs to come up?” Michael asked.

“No, but maybe I should stay here tonight just in case,” Pete said, resting his chin sleepily on his arm which lay on the edge of the toilet seat.

“You're not sleeping in here all night,” Michael argued as he knelt beside Pete. “Come on,” he encouraged as he looped an arm under Pete's to help him up. The young man with red in his hair complied with little resistance other than his drunken clumsiness. Together they stumbled back into the stranger's bedroom, and Michael helped him sit on the edge of the bed.

“Ugh, my mouth tastes awful,” Pete frowned with a sour face. He smacked his lips dramatically and Michael chuckled. Pete was so much more talkative when he'd had a few drinks.

“I'll go get you some water,” Michael said before turning drunkenly for the bathroom again. As he stood at the sink to fill up the plastic cup that had previously contained beer, there was a mewling at the bathroom door to the hallway, and Michael opened it curiously. A small cat came up to rub himself against Michael's leg and kneeling down to pet the kitten.

“I'm busy taking care of my kitten right now,” Michael said to it as he scooted the little critter back out into the hallway. As he rose to head back to the bedroom a voice caught his attention.

“Who's your kitten?” Pete asked sceptically with his arms crossed, leaning against the doorway with his head tilted to see what the fuck Michael had been talking to. He saw nothing and chalked it up to Michael having had one too many. With a sly smile Michael walked past him toward the bed, passing the water to Pete on the way who followed, sipping carefully from the cup in his clumsy hand. He wound up drinking half the cup at once, realizing his thirst after having removed all of the liquid from his body. Pete sat on the bed next to Michael and there was a pause between them before Pete spoke.

“Who's your kitten?” He asked stupidly again, his mind in a weary drunken haze, this time more quietly as if he were considering whether or not he wanted to know the answer.

“You are, of course,” Michael leaned toward Pete, swaying clumsily. He raised a hand to thoughtlessly brush back Pete's hair who held his breath.

“You're drunk,” Pete pointed out quietly.

“Mm,” Michael acknowledged as he nuzzled his nose into Pete's flower scented hair.

“You're going to make me spill my water,” Pete complained as an excuse for Michael to not be so awkwardly close. Fumbling blindly between them for the cup, Michael took it from Pete to place on the night stand. Pete sighed as dark, soft curls brushed against the side of his face as he wrapped his arms around Michael. He had always shamelessly loved Michael's tight natural curls and being able to touch them intimately was exhilarating. Pete pulled the man on top of him as he lay back on the bed.

“Ouch,”Pete said quickly as Michael raised his head in curiosity. “You're hip bone is digging into my side,” he complained as he reached down to take Michael's hip with a hand to shove him in a more comfortable position.

“Mm,” was Michael's response again who leaned back into Pete's warmth. He rested his chin on Pete's shoulder, his lips close to Pete's ear. Somewhat startled, Pete could feel the outline of Michael's anatomy, too soft to be a hip bone, pressed against his thigh.

“M-Michael,” Pete whispered nervously, but he got no response. Instead there was a soft, even breathing next to his ear and Pete sighed in frustration. Great.

There Pete lay, very gradually sobering up after the alcohol left his stomach, growing slightly aroused, wrapped in his best friend's arms and unable to move. He didn't want to wake Michael from his drunken sleep, both out of curtsy and Pete's anxious anticipation of how the situation might progress if he did. So he just stared at the ceiling until the remnants of his intoxication lulled him to sleep.

 

In the morning Pete awoke to the sound of loud voices coming up the stair to the third floor and his eyes went wide. He was in a very unfamiliar room and Michael clung to his side, drooling slightly on the pillow beside his own head.

“Ugh,” Pete said in slight disgust as he shook Michael's shoulder. “Michael,” he hissed, “Wake the fuck up, we need to leave. We shouldn't be up here.”

“Huh?” Michael grunted, bringing the hand that had been across Pete's front to grip his head. He didn't open his eyes until Pete shook him again and received a miserable glare from Michael.

“Come the fuck on,” Pete said as he got out of bed. This was just ridiculous and as he picked up his phone from the floor beside the nightstand Pete realized it was 2 in the afternoon. He helped Michael out of bed who stumbled after first standing up, eyes squinted with his sensitivity to the midday light filtering in through the windows. “Michael,” Pete whispered, hearing the door of the room next to them open as he took the curly haired man's hand.

“Hm?” Michael said dazedly, hungry and dehydrated and hung over. Frankly, he felt like shit and had no interest in moving, but the hand in his tugged on him and Michael followed without thinking. As Pete passed the dresser he snagged something from the clutter on top of it, realizing for the first time this must be a woman's room.

Pete dragged Michael over to the glass door to the balcony and from behind him he heard a comical hiss as if the taller goth were mimicking a vampire from some classic horror flick. Chuckling, Pete opened up the pair of sunglasses he'd stolen and put them on Michael's face with his free hand, disregarding the fact he nearly poked the man in the eye in the process. Emerging from the shaded comfort of a day lit room with no lights on, Pete and Michael entered the intense sun as the tall man grunted appreciatively after very slowly realizing why everything was still comfortably shaded.

Pete turned the corner on the balcony to descend the stairs down the side of the house and slowed now that they were out of sight from anyone who may enter the bedroom. Cautiously holding Michael's hand as he staggered down the steps, Pete escorted the zombie-like man as he heard voices from the bedroom they'd just left. Realizing he'd left the balcony door open, Pete covered his mouth and smiled at the angry voices surprised to see the off limits bedroom in disarray. Michael stopped his descent to turn his head and listen in as well, assuming some semblance of livelihood when he returned his gaze to Pete he smiled too. They snickered stupidly as they got to the lawn on ground level and exited the gate to the front street. Their pace slowed then as Michael's discomfort registered on his face.

When they returned to Pete's aunt's house Pete and Michael spent the rest of the day recuperating and then had dinner. Michael caught the bus home the following morning.


	5. Inklings

Michael was a little surprised when Pete told him he was coming back to South Park for a few days. He was relieved. When Pete said Michael couldn't visit the small college town that month he feared his friend was avoiding him. Instead he just didn't want to tell Michael about plans that weren't finalized yet. He'd be in on the 14th, his aunt was driving in to visit Pete's father for a few days.

Pete Thompson  
Aunt Helena wants to visit dad for his birthday  
since she's going to be in my old bedroom at his house can I stay at your place?  
Michael Hannover  
sure.  
Pete Thompson  
and Henrietta's coming to town on the 15th  
Michael Hannover  
what's the occasion?  
Pete Thompson  
apparently her mom is moving out of town and promised Henrietta money if she helped with the move  
Michael Hannover  
alright.  
Pete Thompson  
she bought a tattoo gun recently and she's bringing it. better think about what you want on you  
Michael Hannover  
i never really thought of getting one before.  
does she even know how to use that thing?  
Pete Thompson  
*shrug* she just told me her boyfriend's been teaching her. he's a professional i guess  
but she isn't old enough to work in a shop  
anyway, how often do you get a free tattoo?  
it'll be fun.  
Michael Hannover  
i guess.  
if i were to get a tattoo where should it go?  
Pete Thompson  
don't you 'i guess' me  
you're getting one  
and i always fancied knuckle tattoos  
though I could honestly never see you with those  
a chest tattoo  
or maybe on the hip?  
Michael Hannover  
alright, alright. i'll can get one. i'll just have to think on what to get.  
and the hip sounds kind of appealing.  
Pete Thompson  
might sting a little though  
Michael Hannover  
how bad is it?  
Pete Thompson  
not that bad, like a constant but subtle sting  
i mean  
can't be worse than some of piercings i've endured  
Michael Hannover  
like what?  
Pete Thompson  
that's for me to know and for you to speculate at best  
Michael Hannover  
killjoy, come on.  
Pete Thompson  
nah, maybe one day i'll show you.  
anyway, I have to go to class  
Michael Hannover  
oh hey wait. there's this podcast you need to download. search 'Where the Dark Children Roam'  
Pete Thompson  
cool, i'll ttyl then

 

Michael looked past the register as he counted out change to a customer to see a familiar dark figure enter the convenience store. Catching his eyes briefly, the corner of Pete's lips twitched with his subtle smile before he went to the back of the store to get some kind of fruit drink.

Dealing somewhat hastily with the customers who stood in line before Pete, Michael called out to a “Bobby,” in the back room. A middle aged woman came out of the office to fiddle with a few things as Pete approached the counter.

“I thought you and your aunt wouldn't be in a for another few hours,” Michael breathed as he rung up the drink. He almost reached to buy Pete a pack of cigarettes as well then remembered he'd quit smoking. Michael still had difficulty getting over that.

“Aunt Helena got her errands finished earlier than expected yesterday so we took off earlier this morning too. Sorry I didn't call,” Pete explained as he handed money to Michael who denied it. He put the drink on his own tab and Pete frowned at this but did not argue. “I figured since we got here early I wouldn't bother you at work and just walk here to meet you instead. You still get off at 10 today, right?”

“Yeah,” Michael answered as his body moved on autopilot and he closed the register drawer. “I'll clock out. Can you wait a minute?”

“Sure.” Pete wandered aimlessly for several minutes before Michael emerged from the counter, buttoning up the front of his winter jacket.

“So do you want help getting your stuff from your dad's house to mine?” Michael asked.  
“Nah, Aunt Helena and I already dropped things off at your place. I thought your mother was going to try and kiss my cheek or something though. That woman is remarkably giddy.”

“She says I should make more friends and that I'm always cooped up at home that it worries her. I guess she's happy to see me with a friend over,” Michael shrugged somewhat unsuccessfully beneath the bulk of his jacket. Pete chuckled at him and Michael took out and lit a cigarette.

“She's said that since we were little,” Pete said. He straightened his collar when a breeze picked up. At least it wasn't snowing yet, the the temperature was pretty chilly, not bitter though, so it was tolerable.

“I guess so,” Michael responded.

“So hey, this podcast you had me look up,” Pete began as he felt the iPhone in his pocket.

“Did you like it?” Michael asked with a shy curiosity.

“It wasn't bad. I was surprised there were some things I haven't heard before. I guess I've been out of the loop. But why didn't you tell me you were going to start a podcast?”

“I didn't want to tell you and then bail on the idea before it happened,” Michael confessed. “Besides, I need to put my massive collection of music to use somehow.”

“Yeah, it was a good idea. It took me about 4 times listening to it to realize that was really your voice reading the quotes from things though.”

“About that, I was wondering if you wanted to help me come up with some more content to play between songs so it's like there's someone actually hosting this thing,” Michael said.

“Fuck yeah, that'd be sweet. What did you have in mind?”

“I don't know, you're more the literary and writing expert than me.”

“Let's stop by my dad's place real quick then. I have most of my old book collections in storage there,” Pete said.

“Alright,” Michael smiled, even more so when Pete took his black gloved hand.

For at least an hour they dug through Pete's shelves of books in his father's attic. Michael helped Pete carry the substantial piles to Aunt Helena's car before making their way over to the curly haired man's house.

“We'll start with these,” Pete stated determinedly as he stuffed a few anthologies in his backpack.

“Want to look though them in the cemetery?” Michael asked and smiled when Pete looked up at him as though he was a genius. “I'll go put some things together for lunch then,” he said as he left his dark room to leave Pete to his pickings.

Coming back ten minutes later with a brown bag of sandwiches and other assorted things he found in his mother's fridge, Michael found Pete paging through a book sitting on his bed. He put the bag into Pete's book-bag and they walked the two blocks from Michael's house to the South Park Cemetery.

They B-lined for the tree on the far side of the evenly plotted field where the tombstones dated farther back and were aged nicely. It was a place they spent many summer days in middle school and a sense of nostalgia washed over them. Michael spread out a thermal blanket at the tree's base as Pete plopped down and dumped out his bag. He leaned against the tree's base, taking a book of choice in his hand and motioning to Michael.

“Come here,” Pete stated, somewhat distracted by his book, and Michael complied curiously.

Michael sat between Pete's outstretched legs where the younger goth had motioned and tentatively laid back. Pete received Michael, despite his hesitance to lay the weight of his head back on the chest behind him.

“This,” Pete began as he reached forward to pass the book before Michael who took it in his hands. Michael chuckled very quietly before he read the highlighted passage. He'd somewhat forgotten about Pete's organized, compulsive need to bookmark and highlight his favorite passages throughout his book collection since high school.

Reading the words aloud, Michael hesitated when he felt fingers toy with his curls and forced himself to finish the passage.

 

 

“Yeah, wouldn't that make a great opening for one of your episodes?” Pete expressed with enthusiasm. Despite their somewhat romantic seating arrangement, Pete was too caught up in this opportunity to be more focused on what assumptions Michael might think of the situation. But Michael needed this enthusiasm from Pete to keep him going with the podcast so he wouldn't quit it like most other hobbies he'd taken up. He pushed his desire for an ulterior motive to the back of his head.

“That would work nicely for an arrangement of songs I had planned for the future. This just might have the coherent element I need to make the episode have a theme,” Michael said happily as his eyes scanned over the highlighted words once more. “Do you have any more that might go along with this?”

“Yeah,” Pete answered quickly and Michael felt the fingers leave his hair to follow the motion of reaching for another book. “How about this one?”

An hour and a half quickly passed before the growling of Pete's stomach tore them from their literary indulgences. Michael had been taking notes on themes for different episodes, the pages of quotes to use and the corresponding songs to go along with them. His vision was developing nicely and so was his excitement for this project.

 

Then next day Henrietta came into town and just after she knocked on the door she thought Michael's mother would hug her to death.

“Hello Ms. Fran,” Henrietta said in the death grip of Michael's mother. “It's nice to see you too,” she could hardly even return the hug, her arms bound to her sides.

“Oh, it's great to see you too! You should come to town more often! My poor Michael is always so lonely,” Fran said with a boisterous smile which had always kind of irritated Henrietta.

“I'm not lonely, mom,” Michael said from behind the woman who turned to smile at him with an expression as though she'd been caught. He stood leaning against the wall with one shoulder and his arms crossed. “I enjoy my solitude.”

“Hey, Henrietta,” Pete said as he emerged from the hallway and around Michael to approach the goth girl with open arms. They embraced and Henrietta kissed Pete's cheek as she squeezed similar to the way Fran had. Henrietta hadn't changed much since the last time Pete'd seen her. At that time she had been refining her style in preparation for moving out of South Park and in with the guy she'd been dating for two years. Jordan was a nice guy, if a little low on self esteem, but Henrietta loved him. She was still heavyset but filled out well, her hourglass shape only accentuated by her thick thighs which she'd disclosed to Pete was Jordan's favorite feature though he wouldn't admit it.

“Oh, I missed you guys!” Henrietta said with a gleam in her eye. She leaned to pick up the silver metal case beside her, her curled hair sliding from her shoulders. She paused in front of Michael to give him a kind of half hug.

“I'll make you kids dinner,” Fran said as she passed them into the kitchen with a smile.

“Thanks,” Pete said, his gratitude genuine. Though Fran's cooking wasn't bad, it sometimes involved things out of the box with lots of salt, the kinds of food Pete tried to avoid eating in college. It would be a real treat to have some cheap mac'n'cheese and soda and chips and fresh out of the freezer chicken fingers.

The three walked down the hall as Pete asked Henrietta how her trip was and she responded that it was alright since Jordan, her boyfriend, usually had something entertaining to say and they could always fall back on listening to music or podcasts.

“Oh, Michael started a podcast,” Pete said quickly with excitement underlying his tone.

“You did?” Henrietta asked as they passed Michael's bedroom for the spare room/den at the back of the house. It was where their group had hung out since elementary school when they weren't in Henrietta's bedroom. Since everything at her house was in boxes, that wasn't really an option anymore. Though Michael's house was also a little older and more outdated than Henrietta's they all indulged in the nostalgia the old room brought.

“Only one episode so far,” Michael admitted as he sat down on the end of the cushy sofa.

“Can we listen to it?” Henrietta asked with excitement.

“I don't know, it's not really that great or anything,” Michael said nervously.

“Of course we can,” Pete undercut him. “I have it right here on my phone.” Michael let his head fall back in defeat as Henrietta clapped her hands together. Pete walked past them to plug the headphone adapter chord that hung from the chunky stereo which was probably dated from the late 80s.

A flat, familiar voice came on as it announced the name of the podcast and briefly read a short quote from Poe as the beginning of a melodic bass tune slowly rose in the background to open the first song. The theme of the episode was death, or as Michael had put it, “the inevitability of human mortality,” because what could be more goth.

“Oh, I love this song,” Henrietta said as she and Pete looked over at Michael who refused to make eye contact with them. “Who knew you'd have such a talent for composing music collections,” Henrietta said somewhat sarcastically. She knew he'd always had a massive music collection since they were old enough to be really influenced by it. In fact, Michael had been the one to introduce his younger friends to the wonders of most of the sounds which would help define them. Michael only raised his eyebrows at her and Henrietta smiled. “This is the perfect thing to listen to while I tattoo you guys!”

“That's a real thing then,” Michael said and Henrietta nodded excitedly.

“I may not have a license just yet but check these out,” she said as she rolled up her black leggings to revealed thick thighs with intricate designs. Pete grew closer and Michael leaned forward to have a better look. “Ah, hold on,” Henrietta said as she wiggled her hips to pull the leggings down from beneath her skirt instead. She stepped out of them as if undressing before her two old friends would have been no big deal on the spot.

“You did all of these?” Pete asked. “But that means you did them upside down.”

“It's not so hard, once you get your image finalized and transfer it it's really just like tracing since I can't color yet.” Pete nodded in wonder at the collage of designs that looked like they might be from a book of elegantly designed Halloween stickers. “So do you guys know what you want?” Henrietta asked as she let the brim of her skirt fall from her hands.

“A dancing skeleton,” Pete said as he exposed the interior of his right wrist and pointed. “With a cemetery going around my wrist,” Pete concluded before looking over at Michael expectantly who leaned back. He sighed and Pete was discouraged as if Michael was going to bail on him. Instead he lifted the brim of his black button down shirt to expose his lower belly and Pete's attention was torn from the fact they were discussing tattoos.

“Four little coffins of different types across here,” he motioned along the interior of his right hipbone. “And one large one on the side here,” and Michael's finger motioned up the inside of his other hipbone. He lowered his shirt again and Pete refused to acknowledge his disappointment as the visuals were revoked.

“Alright,” Henrietta said in response. “Your coffins should be easy enough but Pete's dancing skeleton will take a little while to draw up. Can I use your laptop?” she asked in Michael's direction.

“You may,” he said as he rose from the couch to retrieve it from his room.

Henrietta dug into her bag for a bottle of transfer cream, tracing paper, transfer paper and her sketchbook. Pete took a seat next to her as he watched and they tuned back in to Michael's podcast.

“It's weird hearing his voice when I know he just left the room,” Henrietta said to Pete as the podcast Michael read a brief quote from Voltaire. Pete chuckled in response.

“We just pulled together some material today for themes for his next episode,” Pete said fondly.

“Really?” Henrietta said with excitement as she heard Michael descend the three steps back into the den. She turned quickly to him and said, “You have to let me read some of the stuff that goes into your podcast episodes, as payment for the free tattoo you're getting today.”

“Alright,” Michael agreed. After all, though Michael had the music and Pete knew his literary works, Henrietta had always been the charismatic one, especially while reading to the group aloud.

Henrietta set up as Fran came in with snacks and Pete retrieved a few of the books he and Michael had gone through the previous day.

“What's all of this?” Fran asked curiously as she watched Henrietta unpack her kit.  
“My tattoo machine,” Henrietta answered without hesitation. “Do you want one too?” she asked Fran who laughed.

“Maybe if I was twenty years younger,” she admitted. “You kids have fun and let me know if there's anything you need, alright?” and Fran took her leave as they nodded in her direction. Though Fran could be overbearingly friendly, at least she condoned anything that didn't involve committing severe crimes. She had always chalked up Michael's individual interests to self expression, and in that sense the other goth kids had envied his freedom in youth. But they eventually found Fran was a kind of lenient parent to the lot of them and though they never expressed it openly, Fran was a pretty cool woman.

Since Pete needed to look up the idea image online for Henrietta to reference so that his expectations were met, Michael was the first to be tattooed. He already had crude representations doodled of what he wanted and Henrietta enlarged and cleaned up his designs into her own.

“Maybe Pete should go first,” Michael said quickly as Henrietta turned on her machine to gauge the speed of the needle. Pete looked up quickly.

“You're not chickening out,” Pete said more than asked. Michael winced, his eyes not leaving the needle which jutted out of the end of the machine with a steady hum.

“How much will this hurt?” he asked, falling back into the couch and somewhat dramatically throwing his arm over his eyes.

“It's like when I pierced your ears in middle school, only a little more of a constant sting,” Henrietta explained. She glanced toward Pete before finishing, “Nothing you can't handle, it's not so bad.”

“If it makes you feel better I'll hold your hand,” Pete said flatly and Michael's arm raised suddenly from his face as he looked in the direction of red streaks. He sat up and swallowed.

“Okay,” Michael said with a new-found enthusiasm as he tried to compose himself for this. Henrietta smiled curiously and glance toward Pete who just rolled his eyes.

“Okay,” Henrietta repeated. “You should probably take off your shirt so it doesn't get in the way and lean back so I can transfer this design on you.”

As Michael complied Pete forgot about his subtle embarrassment for saying he'd hold the older man's hand. Instead his eyes traced Michael's thin, flat stomach to hollow hip bones, up his dark happy trail to a deep bellybutton, his slanted nipples, the protrusion of collarbones and back down again. This was so worth it.

Finally all set up with the coffins positioned and transferred, Henrietta looked up to Michael who exhaled slowly. Pete still sat on the floor at the laptop as he traced one of the skeleton designs from the computer screen.

“This may hurt a little,” Henrietta admitted as she lowered the machine and it made contact with Michael's lower belly. Pete glanced up since there was no sound from Michael over the tattoo machine's hum and studied the grimace on the curly haired man's face. He endured it to the best of ability, but still Michael was betraying the agony he felt. Pete supposed being so thin Michael didn't exactly have much to cushion the impact of the needle, but it wasn't that bad. Not for Pete anyway, Michael was a fucking wimp.

Pete stood up silently, replaying the podcast which had ended before pausing in front of the couch. He waited for Henrietta to lift the reverberating needle as she glanced up at him before sitting down. Pete took Michael's hand as promised and the thin man squeezed his. Michael sighed then as Henrietta paused in the tattooing to give him a moment before starting again. This time around Michael's hand in Pete's twitched upon the contact with the needle, but otherwise his expression was more composed. Perhaps he'd become more conscious since Pete had sat down next to him. Either way Pete enjoyed his view.

He noted a few small dark hairs which grew from around Michael's nipple and imagined plucking them out with tweezers to be rewarded with the grimace he'd just witnessed. Pete smiled accidentally and was grateful both his friends were too distracted to notice. Thirty five minutes passed and Michael had his arm over his eyes again though the discomfort had mellowed out since it began.

“Finished,” Henrietta said as she cut off the machine and removed her gloves. Michael removed his arm to look down at his hips.

“Already?” Michael asked as Pete chuckled beside him, shaking his head slightly.

“Yep,” Henrietta answered. “Snack break then it's Pete's turn. Did you figure out your design yet?” she asked as she turned in his direction.

“Almost,” Pete said. He wanted to say he would have by now were it not for Michael but sitting next to the shirtless man had given him something nice to ogle at for that half an hour so he couldn't complain. Releasing Michael's hand Pete stood and returned to the laptop to finish his tracing job. Henrietta cleaned up his design and before Pete knew it, he was the one sitting on the couch where Michael had been. Only instead of being shirtless he was resting his wrist on a folding TV tray dinner table and Michael was not next to him. Instead the older goth had gone to show him mom his hip and been conned into to washing some dishes before dinner. How unromantic.

Though his wrist was very tender, Pete didn't betray his discomfort and when Michael finally came to sit beside him his wrist tattoo was nearly finished. He was disappointed to see the man's shirt back on. They sat in silence, only the podcast playing for the third time in the background the only sound besides the mechanical hum. Unfortunately the hand nearest Michael that could have been held was the one being tattooed.

“There,” Henrietta said finally. “Is there anything else you want done before I dispose of this needle?” she asked as an afterthought. Pete lifted his hand and turned his wrist to view his knew, permanent bracelet.

“Sweet,” he said happily. “Oh, check it out,” he added as he extended his hand and bent his wrist. The skeleton on it interior seemed to stretch and contract giving it the kinetic illusion of dancing. Henrietta laughed allowed and Michael smiled in amusement. As Henrietta reached to unplug her machine Pete spoke up. “Hey wait, give me a little skull here,” and Pete gestured to just above the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

“Sure,” Henrietta answered, slipping her gloves back on. “But don't you want reference? It's going to look like shit otherwise.”

“Nah, it's fine,” Pete said, unsuspecting that his post endorphin rush was what made him so complacent. And he endured another brief tattoo on the opposite hand from his wrist tattoo which freed up the hand closest to Michael who sat patiently next to him. Pete tentatively found Michael's hand and entwined their fingers, careful not to touch the ointment on the tattoo about his wrist. Henrietta pretended not to notice the notion and maintained the illusion of being distracted for the few minutes it took to tattoo a makeshift skull.

“Complete!” Henrietta exclaimed happily, watching as Pete examined the new skull on his hand. “It's a little crooked though,” Henrietta admitted consciously.

“It's perfect,” Pete said as he smiled at her. “Thanks,” he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“Thank you,” Michael added as well and she beamed at them.

“Dinner's ready,” Fran said then as she entered the den.

The four enjoyed dinner, Pete indulging in the food especially, before retiring once again to the den. Upon doing so the rest of the evening was spent passing around Michael's headset as they skimmed through Pete's books and read from them. Finally around midnight they put on some ridiculously obscure independent horror movie and fell asleep about the den.

Pete and Michael didn't see Henrietta again while she was in town. She was too busy helping her mother move and both remembered how frustrating it could be to be around Henrietta's overbearing mother.

They tended to their tattoos, watched old horror flicks and went through Michael's vast collection of music to pull out what might work together in an episode for his podcast. When Pete's aunt was called back for work he was tragically disappointed to have his South Park visit cut short by two whole days. Though he didn't particularly like South Park, being able to spend time with Michael made it all worth it and he was surprised to find himself reluctant to leave.

Not to mention he'd arranged plans in his head that could potentially push his and Michael's relationship a step further. That lovely amount of time being able to study Michael's shirtless form was enough to let Pete's mind plot a seductive scheme. Though Pete had been a little ashamed at his lusty thoughts, his aunt's sudden need to leave put such a damper on his excitement.

“It sucks you have to leave early,” Michael confessed quietly as Pete picked up his packed bags. The walked to the front door but before opening it for Pete, Michael turned toward him and leaned down to place a kiss on the forehead beneath that straight hair. He straightened up to look at Pete momentarily. Michael was pleased when Pete raised himself on his toes long enough to return the gesture, as their lips met.

“You'll be in town soon,” Pete said encouragingly.

Michael smiled softly as he opened the door for Pete and watched his friend get into his aunt's car and depart.

Soon was never soon enough.


	6. Rose Tint My World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: so progresses the intimacy.

“They still don't give school holidays for Halloween even in college?” Michael asked Pete who helped him carry his bags from the bus. “How unfortunate,” he added, shaking his head for good measure. “What are we doing tomorrow anyway?

“The Rocky Horror Picture Show is playing tomorrow night at 10 in the theater,” Pete said as he and Michael walked to his aunt's house. “But I can't stay out too late because I have class the morning after.”

“Oh, I have never been to a public screening of it before,” Michael admitted with interest.

“Yeah, it's customary to dress up as characters from the show,” Pete shared his enthusiasm while Michael's deflated upon further consideration.

“Oh no,” Michael said, waving his hands in front of him in denial.

“What?” Pete asked innocently.

“Don't make me,” Michael said as disdain ebbed into his voice.

“I'm not going to make you dress up,” Pete said, rolling his eyes before adding, “But I do sort of already have the costumes.

Michael groaned because he knew exactly who he was going to have to go as. Though his resemblance to Tim Curry only went as far as his hair and tall demeanor, Michael remembered Henrietta once telling him he'd make a good, albeit skinny Frank-N-Furter.

“At least tell me I can be the mad scientist version,” Michael breathed nervously.

“But that's not the version I have,” Pete said with determination. “Besides, I'm going as Columbia which means cross dressing, so yours isn't so bad.”

“Yeah, okay,” Michael said sarcastically. “Because wearing panty-hose isn't cross dressing.”

“You'll go though, right?” Pete asked persistently as he received a sidelong glance of frustration.

 

As they stood in line for entry into the theater, Michael was thankful that the exceptionally chilly October night called for a jacket with enough substance to conceal his revealing attire. It didn't crush his embarrassment entirely, and Michael suffered after not wearing pants over his leggings. At least he'd talked Pete into letting him wear an extra pair of panyhose to conceal the dark hair on his legs instead of having to shave. But Pete found himself reveling curiously in his best friend's apparent misery none the less.

Michael gave the woman in the ticket booth the two stubs Pete had purchased a week earlier. Pete eyed Michael, recalling when the slender man stepped out of the bathroom clad in a Frank-N-Furter costume. His heart leaped in that moment. Though Michael was too thin to be the original, Pete enjoyed the way that the outfit framed his trim, long physique.

They spent the following hours singing, eating popcorn, consuming mixed drinks and occasionally standing up to dance with the figures on the screen. Each time Pete looked over at Michael in those scantily clad underwear and fishnet stocking, he had an overwhelming urge to touch him. Pete restrained himself though, deciding jerking or sucking Michael off in a crowded movie theater wasn't a very classy thing to do.

 

Worn out from their time staring at a projection screen and occasionally getting up to dance to the music, Pete and Michael returned to his aunt's empty house. They stood in Pete's room, wishing they could acclimate to the heated house a little more quickly.

Pete removed his own jacket to hang it next to the closet before turning toward Michael.

“That was great,” Michael admitted with a smile as he glanced toward Pete who helped him from his jacket.

“Yeah, it was,” Pete agreed before adding, “Not to mention I got to see you wear ladies stockings.” Michael rolled his eyes before he inhaled, holding his breath. Pete grew closer to him and Michael's heart sped up because Pete's eyes weren't on his, or even on the upper half for his body for that matter.

Pete descended until his knees met the carpeted floor and a hot mouth pressed to the fabric of the front of Michael's black panties. Gasping as Pete's tongue wet the black cotton, Michael exhaled, “What the fuck are you doing?” in one fast breath. He asked the question more in astonishment than disgust, but he helped Pete stand back up quickly. He wouldn't last long like that.

Pete mistook Michael's action as denying him and his heart sank for a moment. Then Michael pulled Pete until they both sat on the edge of the bed before he took Pete's sweet lips which taste of alcoholic mixed drinks and caramel popcorn. Pete, who grew hesitant and tense after his initial disappointment, chalked the kiss up to their exhaustion. Pulling back, Michael thought he could see the hint of lust in Pete's expression as dark eyes followed his withdrawal.

“I thought you had more experience at this than me,” Michael teased as Pete seemed to be awoken from a daze by the taunt. Pete wiped his lips with the back of his hand in a self conscious gesture.

“Shut up,” Pete retorted, his brow furrowing before he gripped Michael by the neck of his laced up shirt. Rising onto his knees to loom over Michael, Pete leaned down to kiss the curly haired man. Michael expected Pete's lips to be harsh against his like the fists tangled in the collar of his shirt but he was surprisingly gentle, lips soft and slow, his tongue teasing. Perhaps Pete did have more experience than Michael knew about.

Michael wrapped his arms around the waist before him, drawing Pete closer whose legs rested on either side of Michael's. His long fingers ripped apart the Velcro on the back of Pete's sequined corset to trace up his spine. A barely audible sound of encouragement left Pete and Michael deepened their kiss as his hands explored. Intertwining his fingers in Michael's dark curls, Pete absorbed the softness of his hair as he inhaled the man's subtle rosy scent. Michael's hands moved back down to Pete's hips as their lips parted and he sat up a bit, allowing his hands to strip Pete of the shiny shirt altogether. Pressing his lips to Pete's stomach, Michael was pleased to hear the young man inhale sharply before rising his hands along his sides. A slight tickling sensation mingled with Pete's arousal before Michael's thumbs brushed his nipples and he was absorbed by the erotic sensation. Turning his dark eyes upward, Michael was rewarded with the lusty expression on Pete's face and he smiled. Pete paused, meeting Michael's eyes who licked just above his pierced bellybutton and he inhaled absentmindedly again. Hair falling into his eyes, Pete withdrew a hand from Michael's hair to swipe the strands from his face and held them there. Eying Michael as he smiled up at him, Pete took his other hand to push the curly haired man's face away.

“Don't look,” Pete whispered and Michael chuckled, returning his lips to the pale tummy. Michael was slightly frustrated when he tried to move lower.

“Sit back,” Michael instructed Pete, resisting the urge to eye the bulging in the front of his sparkling shorts as the man complied. Maneuvering backward, Pete sat on the bed as Michael simultaneously crawled over him. Kissing Pete again, Michael blindly felt to unbutton the man's shorts and fondle him through his underwear. Michael moved down Pete's body, pausing to kiss his neck, collarbone, a nipple, and swab his tongue into the man's bellybutton. Pete shivered as each wet spot cooled and he awaited Michael's touch, resisting the urge to watch the curly haired man for fear he might cum too quickly.

Michael smiled at the Halloween printed underwear which read “Wicked” exposed by the unzipped V of Pete's striped shorts before peeling them low enough to expose the goth's enthusiasm. A little startled to find metal beads on either side of the head of Pete's erection, Michael recalled a moment when the shorter man had insinuated he had jewelry elsewhere and his smile widened fondly.

Uncertain what he was doing, Michael tried to concentrate on how he'd repeatedly fantasized having this encounter with Pete before. He traced his tongue up along the underside of Pete's hardness before wrapping his long fingers easily around him. Hissing softly, Pete finally looked down to follow Michael's actions as the man's lips took his head curiously between them and a warm tongue swabbed along his sensitivity. Metal clinked against Michael's teeth as he drew Pete in.

Michael remembered what he himself liked and his free hand lowered, his thumb pressing into the gentle convex beneath Pete's sac. Hissing again, this time with a little more intensity as Michael's mouth began to take him in little by little, Pete threaded his fingers into dark curls. Feeling the movements of Michael's head within his hands, Pete could barely keep his eyes open as dark ones turned up to watch him. Pete held Michael's gaze as if it were a challenge before he let himself go beneath the fraction of contact he'd been exposed to. It seemed to Pete as though Michael's movements weren't just the bob of his head but little thrusts of his entire body. Pete in turn thrust gently, trying his best to restrain his primal urge to choke Michael and focused his attention on rubbing his beaded head along his tongue. Sloppy little wet noises illicited from Pete's movement between Michael's lips as he built up a pleasurable pace.

His hands tightened in Michael's hair, pulling the man's mouth from him as he came with an intensity he seldom remembered feeling before and Pete's mind dissolved into numb pleasure. For a few moments Pete lay there, the quick rise and fall of his chest slowly subsiding as he gained a vague sense of composure. As Pete's vision cleared he looked upon Michael to realize he'd cum across the side of the man's face when he tried to avoid his mouth, worrying subconsciously it might gross the curly haired man out.

“Ah,” Pete said in a panic, reaching for the corner of the sheet. “Sorry,” he apologized softly, wiping the white globules from Michael's cheek. Sitting up, Michael indulged in letting Pete tend to cleaning him up, reveling in his own pleasure that came with the consideration with a soft smile. Pete looked at Michael with a surprised “Oh,” having apparently missing a spot during his cleanup and the older man was startled when Pete took one of his curls, pulling it taut before taking it between his lips. As the strand pulled gently out from between Pete's lips he grew conscious that he'd just tasted himself in front of Michael.

“That's gross,” Pete said in an attempt to reconcile himself and Michael's eyelids lowered as he considered what had just happened.

“Nah,” Michael said softly and kissed Pete, seeking out some foreign taste on the man's lips for himself. He wanted to tell Pete he thought the gesture was sexy but refrained, concerned he might be too forward.

Despite his lazy, post-orgasmic state, Pete overtook Michael then, pushing the taller man back onto the bed as they swapped positions. Pete captured Michael's lips for a few moments before drawing back to fumble with the man's black panties. Hesitating nervously, Michael's hands took Pete's and he protested.

“Wait,” he began as Pete looked up at him with an unreadable expression. “It's okay, you don't need to.” Brows furrowing, Pete parted his lips as if to say something but decided to begin slowly lowering the edge of Michael's panties instead. “Really,” Michael insisted, stopping Pete's hands as he took them in his. Anger graced Pete's face then and Michael was a little startled at the man's reaction.

“You don't get to expose me then withdraw like that,” Pete declared, his voice soft as usual but his stern tone making up for it. Michael thought that if he pleased Pete it should be enough but he hadn't considered how one sided that would make their encounter. He sighed then, pausing to work up his courage so that he could release Pete's hands.

“I'm...” Michael trailed off as his voice faltered, losing all semblance of his confidence from before. “Small,” he finished, gulping down his anxiety and Pete looked up at him for a good moment. Michael diverted his eyes before Pete responded nonchalantly.

“Size isn't everything,” the young man whispered. Those were words Michael had always told himself but never could believe and he internally pleaded that Pete meant it.

Finally lowering Michael's panties, Pete exposed his lover's privacy for his own viewing before pausing. Dread welled in Michael's gut before Pete spoke.

“You're not hard,” he said softly. Regret gathered in Pete for a split moment as he thought for sure he'd been too forward with Michael and the man had not enjoyed their intimacy in the first place. He eyed Michael's face hesitantly, dread welling in his heart before he noted the flush to come across the man's cheeks. Feeling like a fool, Michael realized he had been so consumed in the pleasure of his orgasm as he rubbed himself against the mattress while he sucked Pete off then overtaken by his anxiety of being small that he couldn't think properly.

“I already came,” Michael choked out, still avoiding eye contact and Pete looked down again.

“Oh,” Pete said stupidly, noting the damp fabric of Michael's panties. Pete smiled bashfully then and crawled back over Michael to kiss his cheek. Pushing him down until dark curls met the sheets, Pete put his weight down on top of Michael who trembled slightly. “You're easy,” Pete said jokingly, still smiling as he placed a kiss on Michael's strong jaw.

“Shut up,” Michael responded, raising an arm to try and conceal his face. “Ugh,” he added, embarrassed and disappointed by his inadequacies. When Pete chuckled and pushed Michael's arm over his head to reveal his face, their lips met.

“I think your hopelessness is cute,” Pete whispered, lowering his cheek to rest on Michael's bony shoulder. In response Michael stroked the hair back that fell into Pete's eyes and he continued to run his fingers through the disheveled straightened black for some time.

Bodies having cooled just before they fell asleep, Pete stripped the rest of his clothes off and Michael followed his lead. The mess they'd made discarded to the floor, Pete pulled the comforter over them and each pressed into the warmth beside them.

 

The next morning Michael took the bus back home to South Park, leaving Pete to his studies and busy schedule.

Michael savored the kiss he shared with Pete before they left the shorter goth's Aunt's house. He didn't want it to stop, and kept prolonging their kissing for as long as he could, leaving Pete breathless and smiling gently with swollen, wet lips.

As Michael watched Pete wave him off he couldn't get over the feeling that he was going to miss Pete a long more than Pete missed him since he didn't have the time to spare to think of Michael. Since his own life was relatively dull in the confines of South Park, Michael would have all too much time to look forward and dwell on the next time Pete would visit or he could go visit Pete.


	7. Natal Day

Though Michael's birthday wouldn't be for almost another week once he was back home in South Park, Pete insisted that they do something special while he was in town. They made a day of roaming around to the usual places, trudging through the snow. They walked through cemeteries, perused the secondhand bookstore then sat down to eat in an artsy diner.

Pete laughed when a waiter and waitress came out from the back to sing happy birthday to Michael who was beyond embarrassed. Eating a chocolate ice cream cake, they retired Pete's place for a few hours before the younger goth had to go out to meet with a study group for class. With a little time to kill, Michael walked around town to buy a few things for something he had planned. Since he hadn't specifically asked for anything from Pete, his friend was frustrated when he didn't know what to gift him. As Michael set up in Pete's room, he smiled to himself; Pete would give him the gift he wanted when he got home, he was sure.

Pete entered his own dim bedroom which was lit with several candles along the walls.

“What's this?” Pete asked somewhat comically looking around in bewilderment as soft shadows danced with the flames that moved upon his and Michael's entrance.

“It's romantic,” Michael responded, not forfeiting his intentions to sudden scrutiny. Sure, it was maybe a little lame but Michael had always wanted to do things like this with someone.

“Real people consider this romantic?” Pete asked, still looking around the room. Though the statement could have been cynical, the considerate tone in Pete's voice and his entertained smile suggested he was slowly warming up to the idea.

“Unless of course, I'm just a figment of your imagination,” Michael countered. He faltered a little for a moment before asking, “You don't like it?” Pete turned toward him with simultaneous apology and amusement written on his face.

“It's just,” Pete began, his eyes looking around again. Pete wanted to say that it was a little cheesy, because it was, but he decided against since it was just him and Michael; there was no one to judge them. And frankly Michael's tenancy toward the romantic could potentially be refreshing and altogether lovely. “You're going to put all of my previous relationships to shame,” Pete concluded instead with a comforting smile.

“I should hope so,” Michael commented as if that was his intention all along and he returned Pete's smile. As Pete turned his back to him to eye the candles about the room, Michael approached the shorter goth, wrapping his arms around Pete's waist to pull his back against his front. He looked over Pete's shoulder who turned his head to look up at him. Michael leaned around a bit, his hands wandering beneath Pete's shirt, to plant a firm though somewhat awkward kiss on the corner of the young man's lips.

Michael's hands swept up Pete's front and the shorter goth's hands rested over his. As his lips fumbled clumsily with Pete's, his fingertips rubbed pale, pierced nipples to hardness, gently at first before building in pressure. Michael's attention too harsh for comfort as if testing Pete's tolerance, Pete took those hands and guided them lower where their actions could be put to better use, in his opinion anyway. As Michael's hands continue on their path Pete skillfully stripped off his shirt to deposit it on the floor. Long fingers unbuckled Pete's belt and pulled it with a somewhat harsh motion from the belt loops. That too was thrown to the side before Michael's hands unbuttoned Pete's pants which fell to the floor. Pete watched Michael's palms press flat against his lower belly as they slowly lowered and fingertips disappeared before the brim of his boxer briefs.

Pete pressed into those hands which compensated by drawing him back against Michael. Two hands gripped him, one tight around his shaft while the fingers of the other fondled his head and Pete quickly grew to full arousal. He thrust wildly and without restraint, effectively fucking Michael's hands. Hot breath brushed his ear as Pete took Michael's hands in his own beneath the dampening fabric of his boxers. He squeezed Michael's hands encouragingly, as if he could tighten the already fantastic grip on his erection. Pete stopped thrusting altogether then and the end of that hypnotic tempo tore Michael back into awareness.

“No more or I'm done for,” Pete exhaled in an unsteady gust of breath between his lips. Michael nibbled at the space where Pete's neck met his shoulder for a moment as they tried to cool down. His hands roamed and toyed with the hair around the base of Pete's erection for lack of anything else to do.

“Come here,” Michael said then as he stepped slowly backward and sat on the edge bed. He drew Pete to sit between his legs and they rotated so their legs extended toward the foot board. Reclining against pillows and the headboard, Michael's hands again roamed along Pete's front before the shorter goth spoke.

“When can I touch you too?” Pete said with more composure this time.

“Let me have my turn just a little longer,” Michael replied with a soft chuckle. Pete who was rather enjoying himself tried to ignore the aching desire between his legs, remembering that a little denial would build the intensity of his orgasm that would come later. In no position to argue, Pete let Michael explore his body. As hands fondled his belly and chest, Pete's relaxed indulgence in Michael's curiosity was interrupted when the curly haired man spoke again. “Lift your hips,” the deep voice in his ear instructed as long fingers drew the edge of his boxers downward. Pete complied as his underwear was efficiently lowered to his knees before he took the moment to pull his feet from them altogether and tossed them to the side.

Leaning back against Michael again, Pete placed his hands over the ones that gripped the space between his erection and inner thighs. Long fingers fondled lower, one hand exploring the crevice that began beneath Pete's sac and the tip of a middle finger teased him. Spreading his legs invitingly, Pete pressed backward into Michael's chest who accepted the warm pressure. Not noticing that a hand had left him, Pete was surprised when he opened his eyes again in the midst of Michael's lack of movement to find a candle slowly tipping over his chest.

“Oh,” Pete exhaled as hot, pink wax dripped toward the center of his chest. He was a little startled by the slight burning sensation which slowly subsided as it cooled before another drip hit his pale flesh.

“Does it hurt?” Michael whispered, teasing Pete as the candle moved toward his bellybutton and another hot drip fell. Pete's hands moved suddenly in response then, taking Michael's hand from his groin and drawing it upward. A little startled, Michael's hand with the candle hesitated before his thumb was drawn between Pete's lips. Still trying to concentrate on dripping the wax on Pete, Michael had difficulty keeping his composure, distracted by the sucking of Pete's hot mouth. The long fingers wrapped around the candle began to tremble and Michael's plan to tease Pete by threatening to drip hot wax on his cock was foiled.

Michael had to lower the candle and clumsily place it back onto the bedside table before he plunged two more fingers into Pete's mouth. Without hesitation, Pete compensated for the intrusion with more suction and a wet slurp.

“Fuck,” Michael breathed, realizing briefly he had denied this mouth from previously having contact with his own excitement and wondering why he would have done such an atrocious thing. Pete withdrew the long fingers from his mouth before lifting himself from Michael's front. Uncertain whether his breath had been restricted in fervent concentration on the lips about his fingers or the pressure of Pete on top of him, Michael found himself reluctant to feel the slightly asphyxiated sensation subside.

However, that consideration left his mind altogether as the naked Pete turned around to face him, seating himself comfortably on Michael's lap with that soft grin on his lips. Michael couldn't help but feel Pete suspected his intentions and had purposely broken them off though he couldn't confirm his suspicion. Pete distracted him by pulling off his shirt, sitting up to allow the fabric to leave his body as it was drawn over his head.

“I want you naked too,” Pete demanded in that soft yet alluring voice.

Michael nodded clumsily in response, too distracted to remember his usual self-conscious state of mind as Pete moved so he could remove his pants. As he took the edge of his boxers in his hands Michael hesitated and Pete met his eyes expectantly. Exhaling slowly, Michael turned his eyes bashfully downward as his hands quickly removed the last of his clothes. He lay back again, face burning and feeling for a moment as if he had no right to be aroused until Pete maneuvered to sit on his dark haired thighs. Refusing to look up, Michael could see on the brim of his eyesight that Pete was leaning forward and when a hand tightened around his erection he admitted defeat. Taking a familiar candle in his hand, Pete held it over Michael's chest as pink dripped down onto his skin. Shocked at the sudden burning sensation, Michael's attention shot up and he peered at Pete who sat back, knees bent on either side of his hips. Another drip fell and Michael was lost when Pete suddenly thrust forward, rubbing their cocks together in his fist as the burning returned and receded. Pete's hips moved in a steady, painfully slow motion and Michael rose a hand to his mouth as if it could contain his expression of pleasure. Not only were their erections pressing together, but the weight of Pete's balls on Michael's massaged them with steady heat.

How Pete managed to simultaneously maintain the thrust of his hips, squeeze their erections together and drip wax gradually down Michael's front was beyond him. Watching the candle slowly pass the coffins tattooed on his hips and approach their rubbing erections and the threat of impending burn upon Michael's member excited him beyond explanation.

“I'm close,” Michael hissed and suddenly Pete's hand left them to the curly goth's dismay before hot wax dripped on his belly just above where their erections still touched. 

Pete bit his lip as another drip fell on the heads of their cocks, dripping from the side of Pete's onto Michaels. Hissing over him, Michael fidgeted hopelessly and Pete smiled deviously as he looked up. After all, Michael had a low threshold of pain, but Pete was pleased that his partner's erection didn't shrivel as another drip of wax fell upon them. In fact, despite Michael's upset expression, he was trembling and twitching beneath Pete. With Pete over him, receiving the same hot drips of wax as him, Michael couldn't make himself work up the gall to make him stop. He needed to endure what Pete could as if it were a matter of pride.

Michael had put his arm over his eyes as he lay back in the pillows and was only torn from the searing on his cock when he heard the glass jar of the candle meet the bedside table. He didn't move until Pete took his arm and removed it from his face. Michael opened his eyes as Pete took his lips with wet, hungry fervor. Sighing into the kiss as Pete bit at his lip, a hand stroked his cock and chips of cooled wax pealed off of him.

Again Pete sat back on his thighs, distracted as put KY on his fingertips and massaged it with his thumb to warm the lubricant. Michael watched with anticipation as Pete's finger lowered past his own erection to press into himself. Pete leaned back, his weight on his free hand as he exposed himself for Michael's viewing pleasure. Licking his lips inadvertently, Michael was glad there was no contact on his person or he would have cum very quickly watching Pete like that. He swallowed as two more wet fingers filled Pete quickly, unbeknownst to him, the younger goth had prepared a few days ahead of Michael's visit. But he didn't need to know that.

“A condom,” Pete breathed, his mind in a lewd haze. Michael nodded, reluctant to tear his eyes from Pete, as he blindly felt for the beside drawer and tore open a little packet. Pete held out his hand expectantly and Michael handed it to him. Placing the condom between his lips, Pete leaned forward, putting the condom on Michael's cock with his mouth.

“How, --oh fuck,” Michael breathed as his sheathed head met the back of Pete's mouth. He wanted to ask how Pete knew how to do that, but maybe he'd find that out later, for the moment there were other things for Michael to concentrate on. Pete's mouth quickly left him, leaving Michael coated in a thin, smooth film as the goth with red streaks lifted himself over his partner.

Pete gripped Michael's cock in his hand as he lowered himself, pushing past the tightness of initial penetration until he sat all the way down. Michael breathed, trying to keep his composure in the tight, nearly painful heat within Pete as his body rose on his cock and descended again.

Michael laid on the bed, looking up at Pete who rode him for his own satisfaction. Michael's own pleasure was enhanced by watching the almost painful pace of his partner's pleasure seeking hump of his hips. Pete's self indulgence was ideal for Michael, who wasn't so well versed in the art of intercourse and this allowed his friend to be guaranteed orgasm. Michael could tell Pete was getting close as he leaned back, his palms pressing down into the mattress to support himself as he made short humps up and down Michael's prick. As his hips jolted forward and back and forward again Pete's pierced cock bounced and Michael was gifted what he considered one of the greatest sites he'd ever beheld. Pete let out his voice without restraint, having found just the spot and pace to bring him release as Michael reached forward. He pinched Pete's nipples, rubbing them between his fingertips around the metal bar that ran through each in excitement.

“Ah!” Pete cried, losing himself as Michael touched him. Pete's arms barely kept him up as they trembled and his body slumped. He endured for just another moment as he rode Michael, consequently squeezing the member within him as he came.

Blinded by his intense orgasm Michael didn't even realize Pete had climbed off of him to lay at his side until he felt a towel come to his chest to wipe it clean. Micheal turned his head toward Pete and leaned up to kiss his damp cheek. Pete looked down at Michael as he blindly fumbled to wrap the towel around the used condom and slip it off of Michael's soft member. He glanced down to wipe Michael as clean as possible before he tossed the towel across the room. Pete fell back down onto the bed, the thrum of his heart in his chest still subsiding as he wiggled up to Michael's side. Playing with Michael's hair mindlessly, Pete was withdrawn from his near sleep state when the curly haired man spoke softly.

“Did that hurt?” Michael whispered as he reached down to touch the metal bead that rest on the edge of the head of Pete's soft member. “I mean, compared to the others,” Michael added, considering that he knew they all hurt to some measure.

“Probably the most intense thing I've experienced,” Pete responded, unperturbed by Michael's curiosity. “Pain wise,” he added, considering there had been equally intense moments of pleasure in his life as well.

“I like it,” Michael said absentmindedly. “And these,” he continued as his hand trailed upward near Pete's bellybutton piercing and higher toward his nipples.

“Do you want one?” Pete asked curiously.

“I always liked those single bead ones, they're fancy,” Michael said sleepily.

“Microdermals,” Pete responded, his finger twirling a dark curl beside Michael's face.

“Yeah. Right here,” Michael pointed toward the center of his chest just below his collarbones.

“That'd look nice,” Pete whispered in his ear.

Michael responded only with a gentle 'hm' as he and Pete descended into sleep.

 

“What am I doing here again?” Michael asked as he sat down on the table in the center of a small sterile room. Pete looked over to him, drawing close.

“Getting that microdermal you said you wanted,” he answered.

“I never said I wanted it.”

“I don't know, you seemed to have put quite a bit of consideration into it before,” Pete encouraged with a teasing smile.

“That was after throws of passion,” Michael countered and the female piercer glanced at them with a raised eyebrow. “I wasn't in my right mind.”

The piercer left the room for the back to pick up things from the autoclave. Pete's eyes followed her exit as he leaned his lips close to Michael's ear.

“But these here are so nice,” Pete said as he traced the brim of Michael's ear with his lower lip, hot breath dancing across sensitive skin. He could be so stubborn sometimes but Pete knew Michael's indecisive nature could be won over. It was just like when they were younger and Michael mentioned a new ear piercing but his uncertainty eventually discouraged him. So Pete became that encouragement when he brought a pack of needles, antibacterial soap and a hoop over to Michael's and had him take a seat. That hoop was in fact the same one Michael wore to this day, or so Pete seemed to remember. “And I think this microdermal would really suit you,” Pete whispered.

He withdrew as the piercer entered the room again and Michael scowled at the floor.

“Having second thoughts?” she asked and Michael looked up at her.

“No,” he said quickly, resigning himself to his new found courage.

“Okay, then can I just have you remove your shirt and lay back,” she requested and Michael complied.

During the next few moments while Michael endured the considerably low pain caused by the punch though his skin, Pete sought out the man's hand regardless and their fingers entwined.

As Michael sat up he crooked his neck trying to look down at his own chest before turning toward the mirror. He rose a hand which was swatted away by Pete with a quick, “Don't touch it, your hands are dirty.”

On the way out Pete tipped the piercer and they walked back to Pete's place.

“You know, you didn't have to pay for it,” Pete said as he glanced at Michael.

“Yeah, but I'm the one with a full time job,” Michael said, as his fingertips brushed over the little knot on the front of his shirt where the micro-dermal hid beneath a band-aid.

“But it's your birthday,” Pete insisted before finishing, “And I'd pay to watch you miserable any day.” He smiled, eying Michael's face expecting a snide remark or for him to roll his eyes.

But Michael only smiled gently in return, because whatever misery Pete intended for him to endure, Michael would gladly accept. After all, Pete's subtle curiosities and ideas had only ever been beneficial for Michael, though he'd never admit it to the shorter goth.

 

Perhaps Pete was over-thinking things when he considered how long he'd known Michael and the idea of spending a future together. He had a bad habit of doing that, dwelling on what was to come with no answers to his open ended questions. But Michael had a tenancy to think nothing of the future beyond the following month when he was scheduled to work, would get paid and maybe visit Pete. So Pete thought it was alright for him to think ahead for Michael sometimes, especially when it came to their potential life expectancies.

He was a little nervous about giving Michael the gift he'd gotten him though. Pete finally convinced himself to hand it over since Michael would be departing the next morning. Handed a small box wrapped in glittering black stars, Michael unwrapped it with an excited light in his eyes.

“What the fuck is this?” Michael looked down into the box he'd unwrapped, asking with genuine curiosity and a bit of concern.

“An electronic cigarette,” Pete said as Michael looked up at him with a slight grimace.

“What am I suppose to do with this?” Michael asked as he lifted the silver pipe-like object in his hand.

“You smoke it,” Pete said obviously.

“That's what I have cigarettes for,” Michael responded stubbornly, frowning.

“Yeah, but this still gives you a dose of nicotine, produces a water vapor and doesn't have all of those nasty chemicals,” Pete explained. He had prepared himself to do a bit of explaining.

“I like my cigarettes just fine, thanks,” Michael said. He couldn't pinpoint why this frustrated him so much, perhaps if Pete wanted to 'improve his lifestyle' then so be it, but he didn't have to drag Michael into it.

“But cigarettes are such shit for you,” Pete said, his patience tested. He wanted to tel Michael it was taking years off of his life, but Pete knew this wouldn't work. After all Michael didn't have any particular obsession with living, he just did because it was what he could do before death. “And they make you smell bad,” Pete's tummy turned a little, maybe that wasn't the right insentive.

“You never complained about me smelling bad before,” Michael said, legitimately offended. He went to considerable lengths to smell quite nice and that remark shot right through his pride.

“Since I stopped smoking I can smell better and every time you're around you wreak of it,” Pete said. “I mean, you smell nice otherwise, but the smokey smell invades my senses and makes my head hurt.” That was funny, Michael could have sworn just after Pete quit he indulged in that smokey essence he still carried around, now he was changing his mind and acting all superior.

“I'm not using this,” Michael said angrily, putting the item back into its box. It was unusual for him to be the offended one fueling their feud, but this drove him up the wall.

“Fine, never mind,” Pete said, getting up from the couch to go into the kitchen and wash the dishes from the dinner they'd cooked together. Michael stared at the thing in the box with distaste.

They didn't speak much for the rest of the evening and Michael even avoided the awkward moment that might come from sleeping in Pete's bed by staying on the couch. He had to get up in the morning to catch the bus and Pete wouldn't be there anyway since he had to get to class even earlier.

Micheal pretended to sleep when Pete came into the living room, heading for the front door before he paused. Michael was usually a pretty heavy sleeper, but sometimes he just lay there with his eyes closed to think too. Listening intently, Michael heard the footsteps approach him and his dark curls were brushed back by gentle fingertips before lips met his forehead.

“I love you,” Pete whispered and Michael's heart sunk to the pit of his stomach. He wanted to wake up and snatch Pete's lips, but instead he continued to feign sleep, his stubborn tendency overwhelming his logic. An hour later he awoke and got ready before heading for the bus stop.

As he dug for his cigarettes, he found a cold metal thing packed in the same pocket and sneered. Michael looked down into the pocket to find a small unopened box still wrapped in paper printed with glittering black stars. Sighing, Michael opened the box he thought he'd left behind at Pete's house, damn him. It was a variety of cartridges for the electronic cigarette and Michael's curiosity got the best of him when he caught sight of pina colada among classic tobacco, magnificent menthol and java jolt.

It wasn't as though Michael had to let Pete revel in his victory by telling the him he used the cigarette after all, so what was the harm. As he lit the thing and breathed in, a subtle fruit taste invaded his senses which was altogether rather pleasant. Afterward Michael still lit a cigarette in defiance.

After the bus ride, Michael dwelled on what Pete'd said and grew angry when he kind of craved that pleasant fruity taste again. He got into his bedroom and inhaled. Did he really smell bad? Michael couldn't tell, he'd always been around cigarette smoke, even when he was a kid since his mother was a smoker. He frowned and dug out his music collection from under his bed to organize another selection for a podcast. Michael couldn't care less about gaining a following for his podcast, it was just something to do and he enjoyed sharing his collection with a potential audience. Not to mention it was a great way for him to keep a level head and avoid dwelling on things.

But as he began to rifle through the CDs Michael noticed the slightly yellow tint of the plastic and looked around his room. The pages of his books had grown yellowed over the years from smoking in his room, and there was a light film over surfaces that hadn't been dusted or touched in a while. Michael frowned, that film was a little gross since he finally noticed it and again he thought of the electronic cigarette.

Pulling it from his pocket, Michael dug the classic tobacco from his bag and loaded the cartridge into the metal apparatus. The electronic cigarette did at least look kind of neat, more impressive than a cigarette since it more resembled a pipe but didn't have the inconvenient quality of the tobacco being able to fall out of it.

There had to be more of a reason than Michael's smell for Pete to insist that he stop smoking. After all, it wasn't as if it was such a huge request, even if Michael had been smoking since his early teens since Pete had gone to the lengths of finding him an alternative. Did he really intend to break things off between them because he was too stubborn to cave into Pete's request?

Michael flopped back onto the floor and lay there, staring at the ceiling while he smoked the electronic cigarette and reminisced about the amazing night they'd had two days before. His free hand mindlessly touched the piercing on his chest through his cotton shirt. Frankly he'd much rather have a repeat experience with Pete than to worry about his desire for a smoke, and Michael got up.

He spent the following few days cleaning that yellow tint from everything in his room. Though he didn't get online to talk to Pete for a few days, when he did he sent a link to his new podcast and didn't bring up the cigarette at all. He'd let Pete be surprised the next time they were together. It might warrant a reward for Michael anyway, and he enjoyed thinking up what they could do for their next encounter.


	8. Collision

Michael waited at the tiny rundown bus station in South Park in a thick black jacket to endure the icy chill. As the bus pulled in it seemed to dwarf the station; any visitor might find the place eerie and dilapidated but Michael was all too familiar with the location. He stepped into the sloshy crunch of snow on the sidewalk to approach the bus.

Pete took out his headphones as he descended the bus steps after catching sight of Michael. They'd returned to the normalcy of chatting online again, but were a little awkward in person since the last time they'd been together and had a fight. Michael wanted to reach out and take Pete's hand regardless, but the shorter goth kept his gloved hands in his pockets to keep them warm. Pete glanced at Michael, admiring the crisp natural curls of his black hair in the cold air, his breath visible as he exhaled. His cheeks, lips and the tip of his nose were rosy and Pete thought the tint stood out from the snow in the distance beautifully.

Pete had been nervous about coming home for the holiday season since returning to South Park would mean having to spend time with his family. Since he was there in that moment, that strange sense of having a second home to return to fell over him, one perhaps more familiar than his aunt's place since he'd spent so many more years of his life in South Park.

“Firkle's coming to town for a few days,” Pete said suddenly to break the silence between them. Michael frowned unenthusiastically.

“Oh,” he responded shortly.

“And Henrietta's going to stop in for a few days so we can all get together again,” Pete added.

“Oh,” Michael said again, this time with legitimate enthusiasm since he did miss Henrietta.

“We thought we'd have a little winter solstice party, what do you think?”

“Sure,” Michael said passively. “At whose house?”

“Well, Henrietta will be staying with Firkle at his grandfather's house since her mom moved away. Besides, Firkle's grandfather is a bore, and I definitely want to avoid my parents at all cost. They get so bitter toward one another this time of year,” Pete reasoned, thinking aloud.

“So it's my place then?” Michael asked though he already knew the answer.

“Looks that way,” Pete said. “Will Fran be chill with that?”

“Of course,” Michael responded. “I don't think she's capable of saying no.”

Pete laughed shortly, nodding in agreement.

As they entered Michael's house Pete endured the smokey smell which enveloped him. Pushing open the door of Michael's bedroom Pete thought for a moment that he'd just already adjusted to the smoke. But then he inhaled and the smell in the room was fresher. Pete turned toward Michael who avoided his eyes.

“You quit?” Pete asked with astonishment. Michael only shrugged. Pete dropped his bag on the floor and cupped Michael's face as their lips met. Sure enough, Michael didn't have the underlying scent of smoke. Pete kissed him more deeply with tangible appreciation. A daring hand reached down to rub the front of Michael's pants who gasped. He pressed into the palm before Pete pushed him back altogether.

"Maybe later, right now we need to go shopping," Pete said, denying Michael who scowled. How awful, he had already started to get a little hard and scoffed as he turned around to gather his bag.

Pete wanted to go to Fran's art store to pick up some things to make gifts for everyone for the solstice party. Conforming to the holiday spirit and gift giving was something they never usually partook in, but it didn't stop the goths from having a tradition of their own. They made a diy craft week out of that time of year and traded their creations instead of giving gifts. That way no one got what they didn't want and could just make their own version on the spot. But this time they'd only have a day or two, so Pete wanted to make it really worth it, especially with all for of them there. Firkle had excluded himself for a few years but seemed to lighten up. He had related to Pete's difficulty making new friends, and they grew closer in the following months.

As they walked through the short layer of snow coating the ground outside, Michael and Pete split a pair of headphones between them to listen to the taller man's newest podcast. Sure they could have both just listened to it simultaneously with their own earphones but where was the fun in that? Too cold to hold hands, they interlocked their arms, hands gloved and buried in their pockets.

Grateful to get into the heat of the small arts and crafts store, Michael admired Pete's especially pale complexion and flushed lips from the winter chill. He missed that about that time of year, being able to see Pete all bundled up and hugging himself to stay warm. If they hadn't been out in public Michael would have shared his body heat with Pete, but that would come later.

“Hi Kelly,” Pete waved to the girl at the register, and Michael turned to see who he was talking to. It was the high school girl his mother had hired for seasonal help and Michael was a little perturbed. He'd been helping at the store but only after hours to restock since he had changed shifts at the convenience store and couldn't be full time to help his mom. Michael hadn't actually met Fran's new help though and he tried not to frown to show his inner distaste. Fran had an attraction to alternative kids, surely because of her only son's style, but she couldn't distinguish the decent ones from the posers.

Kelly was styled like one of those hardcore kids which pissed Michael off beyond all others. Sure emos were whiny and a lot of people couldn't distinguish them from the goths, that was frustrating. Then there were those annoying otaku kids who dressed in Hot Topic attire because it mimicked the visual kei of Japan or whatever, they were pretty bad too but the goths often scared them off. Michael could admit, Japanese style influenced some of the American goth culture and he enjoyed their music but those kids just put it to shame. Then there were these hardcore kids with their screamy fucking music with bands who basically ripped the goth look and were insatiable assholes.

Sure, especially in high school their goth group could be jerks, but it usually had a point to protest those who idiotically followed without thinking twice about how fucked up things could be. These kids though, they were especially bad tempered, had egos that soared beyond being healthy and thought they could label everyone else. Gratefully that trend started up only just before Michael left high school, but what little he experienced he despised. Especially since Firkle associated with them instead of who should be his real friends. Michael found it hard to swallow in that moment knowing in a few days he'd have to confront the younger goth. What didn't help was that Pete and he were still friends.

“Michael, this is Kelly,” Pete introduced and the girl with the raccoon striped highlights turned toward him with a friendly smile.

“Nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you,” Kelly said and Michael nodded, certain his displeased expression was probably off-putting.

“This is Firkle's girlfriend,” Pete said and something within Michael clicked. He nodded again before speaking shortly.

“Pleasure,” Michael lied, wondering just what it was she'd heard about him.

“She's coming over for the solstice party,” Pete added and Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Uh huh,” he acknowledged shortly and was beyond grateful when he saw his mother emerge from the back. Michael never thought seeing her could be such a relief as in that moment.

“Michael!” Fran beamed as she walked quickly toward them with enthusiasm. She caught sight of Pete and said his name loudly with excitement before drawing him in for one of those bone crushing hugs. “Come this way, boys,” she chimed as she turned for the backroom of the store. Michael followed, glancing back to roll his eyes as Pete and Kelly exchanged a brief wave of friendly dismissal.

This was going to be difficult to endure.

But watching Pete's excitement when he saw the selection of Halloween themed craft items they'd saved for him washed away Michael's anxiety. Pete rummaging gleefully through bat stickers, mini cardboard coffins, scrap booking paper packs printed with black lace, little jointed paper skeletons and other miscellaneous treats. Or as gleefully as a normally stoic goth could, his outlined eyes alight with a gentle, warm smile on his lips.

“Thank you so much,” Pete said politely as he voluntarily hugged Fran because he knew these supplies would be for free. Michael rolled his eyes shortly because he knew Pete was well versed in thank yous with his aunt who provided so much for him. If there's one thing Pete was forever grateful for, it was his modest acceptance of financial help from those around him. Pete could be surprisingly fickle but being brought up the way he had Michael understood the reason behind it. He was distracted as Pete's appreciation turned toward him.

“And you too,” Pete said shortly as his lifted himself to kiss Michael's cheek, joining their hands. Michael had spent a few hours handpicking what he knew Pete would like most of their selection after all. He hesitated, glancing over at his mother who busied herself packing up the supplies so they'd be easy to transport. Michael hadn't told her outright that Pete was more than just his friend, but she probably wouldn't be bothered anyway. Fran pretty well adopted Pete, Henrietta and Firkle ever since they'd been kids just for associating with Michael. Still it was a little embarrassing with her standing right there. Pete contemplated full on making out with Michael on the spot to savor the man's embarrassment but refrained.

“What else do you need?” Michael asked as he took the box of Halloween supplies under one arm and followed Fran and Pete out of the storage room.

“Glue, brushes, maybe some glitter, and tape for good measure,” Pete answered before he thought aloud under his breath, “We should already have scissors.” He paused before turning toward Michael, “Are you getting anything?”

“Duct tape,” he answered shortly.

“Oh, what for?” Pete asked curiously.

“Coffin bags,” Michael said and resisted his smile as Pete lit up again.

“You're finally going to show us how you make those?” Pete asked. He recalled when he'd asked Michael to show him back in early high school only to be told he was acting like a conformist. Michael hadn't wanted to share his secret and Pete hadn't bothered him about it again.

Michael just shrugged.

“Let me know if you boys need anything,” Fran called as she returned to the register at the front of the store. They nodded in response.

As Michael turned for the tape section of the store, Pete watched him depart, his darkness a sillouhette against the sterile brightness of the organized store. His lips twisted fondly before turning for the glitter isle.

After an hour of enjoying the selection before them, Michael and Pete checked out. Pete didn't see the point until Fran explained she just needed to account for the items removed from the store to take inventory. In truth she rung everything into an account which would subtract from her son's paycheck, but Fran faithfully withheld that information since Michael requested Pete no know. Sure, they weren't suppose to exchange presents that time of year because that was what consumerism conformists did, but Michael indulged upon occasionally doting upon Pete. After all, he was paying the wholesale price which was pretty cheap.

He recalled when Pete refused to allow Michael to buy him a new jacket senior year of high school after he'd started working. His relationship with his family had always been one in which Pete was given what he needed material wise, a love bought with money. But he never wanted his and Michael's relationship to be watered down by material wealth. It needed to be a purely emotional and psychological tie, as with his group of friends since elementary school when they'd met. It was the three of them who had nurtured Pete's need of human affection.

·._.·´¯`·._·´¯`·._.·´¯`·.

When they returned to Michael's place, the set down the supplies in the middle of the den floor, Pete dumping his school book bag excitedly. Michael left for the kitchen to cook them the delicacy of grilled cheese and Campbell's tomato soup to warm them up a bit. It seemed inadequate when Pete would make them lavish salads and smoothies and surprisingly delicious health food when Michael was over at his place. But Pete indulged in a certain guilty pleasure of the junk food in Michael's house which made his life easier. It might not be fancy, but Michael knew how to cook when it came to cheap food. It was the least he could do. Pete joined him a moment later to take the glass pot from the coffee maker and fill it with water.

“I thought you were bettering you lifestyle,” Michael mocked as he glanced in Pete's direction.

“Yeah, so I quit smoking,” Pete said stubbornly. “But coffee,” he confessed, “I could never give up.” As if to emphasize he leaned over to breath the smell of the gourmet beans Fran kept in stock when they were younger and Michael did now. They were a little pricy but worth it. Michael chuckled at the stove, stirring the pot of soup as he heard the coffee machine begin to do its thing. “Michael,” Pete called from behind him and the taller man turned around.

Pete moved in close, pressing their fronts together and forcing Michael to lean back over the stove, supporting himself with palms to the counter on either side of him. Pete's hand slid expertly up Michael's front beneath this shirt, pushing against him before pinching his nipples between thumb and forefinger.

“Ah, Pete,” Michael breathed in husky protest.

“Mmm?” Pete asked seductively, his lips meeting Michael's neck. His curly hair fell back against the hood of the overhead vent above the stove and he was momentarily grateful his compulsive need for order had made him clean the grease from it recently. Then Pete's teeth bit at the tender side of his neck and the support of Michael's arms began to falter.

“The stove,” he stated as if it were a very logical argument, “It's hot.”

“No shit,” Pete chuckled, drawing his hands around Michael's back to lift the shirt shielding him from the heat resonating from the burner. Pete bit harder as he shift to rub his front against Michael. Then he stepped away and Michael sighed with disappointment. Dammit, Pete could be such a tease! And Michael cursed his body for always being so lewd and on edge. “Let me know when the coffee's finished,” Pete said, his voice dripping with amusement before he took the wooden spoon Michael had been stirring with from the man's hand. He licked up its side delicately before plunging in into his mouth and sucking the red soup from it, drawing the wood from between his stretched lips. Michael exhaled and as the spoon left Pete's lips he snatched it from the shorter goth.

“You're getting your germs all over,” Michael complained to distract from his pathetically easy seduction. Pete glanced down only to smile at him before he turned for the hallway. 

Thwack! And Pete let out a short cry of surprise as Michael swatted his ass with the spoon. Clutching his rear Pete laughed and shot for the hallway quickly as Michael raised the spoon, threatening to spank him again.

“Kinky,” Michael heard Pete say from down the other end of the hall. Michael rolled his eyes, smiling down at the soup he stirred since Pete wasn't there to see his amusement anyway. That brat, always pulling badly timed moments to tease Michael. He was convinced he'd get Pete back for it later.

As Michael entered the den with plates and cups carefully balanced in his arms, Pete was tearing up various sheets of printed paper. Pausing to reach up and help set the things Michael carried in his arms on the floor, Pete happily took a bite of a grilled cheese sandwich.

“Need help?” Pete asked as he stood and Michael shrugged.

“Your coffee is probably ready.”

Pete followed Michael who picked up the bowls of soup to head for the den. He fixed their coffee and brought that in behind him. They put Michael's new podcast on the stereo to listen to yet again, a familiar voice introducing a guitar riff.

Michael mimicked Pete's tearing for a while before they collaged over the surface of cardboard coffins. Pete's was a mixture of red, purple and black patterns, Michael's of black values, blue and a little white filigree. As they waited for the glue to dry Michael measured and cut out a template from recycled cardboard and Pete copied him. They covered the cardboard in duct tape and taped the pieces together to construct coffins large enough to carry things inside of them. Michael left momentarily to grab some sewing supplies, the rest of which he'd text Henrietta on Pete's phone to bring.

By the time they'd finished off their bags with fabric, zippers and buttons, the collage coffins with inverted cross stickers and bats, it was growing late into the evening. Fran prepared dinner and the goths put on a movie before retiring to the bedroom.

The purple string of lights that lined the inside of corner of Michael's ceiling cast a pretty glow from above, fragments of white light skewed here and there. They grew close, Pete cuddling Michael's back as they went to sleep. Though Michael longed for more between them that night, he withheld his need because he was sure neither was particularly interested in being sore the next day and he suspected they'd be insatiable unless they went all the way.

·._.·´¯`·._·´¯`·._.·´¯`·.

When Firkle showed up Michael was a little taken aback. He hadn't seen the youngest of their group in a few years, at least not for longer than a moment in passing since they lived in a such a small town. His earlobes were stretched quite a bit larger than Pete's with hollow tunnels. Firkle wore a black band tee with some indistinguishable metal band logo and a ram's skull on its front, his pants sagging so his boxers showed. Michael remembered when Firkle used to wear purple lipstick and he glanced in the younger guy's direction. It was a pity he didn't anymore, it was hard for guys to pull that off and Firkle wore it surprisingly well. From the collar of his shirt peaked out the outline of type on his chest, presumably a tattoo Henrietta had probably done for him since he was only about 16. Michael instantly thought he looked like a douche bag, how had Pete and Henrietta still stayed friends with him?

As he came in Kelly followed smiling and saying hello. Though Michael assumed she'd be a bitch, Kelly was surprisingly friendly, even if she did have cotton candy blue horizontal hair striping. For a moment Michael considered her bubbly personality to be perhaps even worse than her being a bitch. Firkle nodded a hello toward Michael who at least acknowledged him. They would play civil for the evening.

Not ten minutes later did Henrietta and Jordan arrive and they joined the rest in the den. Henrietta had changed her hair, dawning synthetic dread extensions this time, her eyes lined like Cleopatra in the classic movie with a dot drawn between her eyebrows and her lipstick dark. Her tight black jeans had holes worn in the knees which exposed the fishnet she wore beneath. Henrietta's black button-down shirt gave the illusion of being boned like a corset with lacey accents. Jordon was friendly but a little awkward with his hair shaved around the sides and back but longer on top, shaped by a callic in the front of his hairline and sharp framed glasses. He bore a sleeve, neck tattoos and a crooked grin which was somehow endearing despite Michael's initial assumption he looked like pompous jerk.

Michael realized he didn't seem to like meeting new people very much, did he? After all, Henrietta wouldn't have tolerated bullshit so he must be alright.

Not having expected such a turnout, Michael realized Pete had anticipated that many people because he'd accumulated enough supplies. Fran called the two of them into the kitchen to carry the food into the den, Michael and Pete presenting the group with vegetable chips, cheese plates, fruit, crackers and bottles of wine. There was also some coconut rum, as well as a few ingredients for mixed drinks. The den just barely seemed to accommodate them all.

Henrietta presented them with inked line drawings based off of photos of them with the addition of grotesque features to turn them into to zombies. It made the crew laugh and she explained that Jordan had helped her with some of the gory bits.

Firkle's gig was playing drums in a band, so he didn't have something particularly crafty to bring. Instead he brought along a couple sets of a card game he and Kelly loved called Gloom. Firkle entertained for a bit by telling dead baby jokes he happened to have memorized a ton of. Michael found it entertaining that despite his change in style, Firkle was still that kid with a morbid sense of humor. He was growing on Michael again, and Kelly seemed alright if she had the capacity to laugh at dead baby jokes. He looked over to Pete who laughed in Firkle's direction.

“Impressive ears,” Pete said to Firkle who nodded at him. “They're bigger than I remember. What size are you at now?”

“Inch and a half,” Firkle answered, fiddling with the silicon tunnel in his ear.

“If you get up to that size I'll be able to stick my dick through your ear,” Michael thought aloud and though he didn't look up from the cardboard he cut, the comment was obviously directed at Pete. Everyone in the room knew they were a thing, even if they weren't suppose to. With a 'pfft!' the others broke out in laughter and Pete turned a humiliated death glare in Michael's direction. He glanced up to catch those dangerous eyes and smiled himself. Even Firkle beside Pete laughed.

“That's sick,” Firkle chuckled out and Pete turned his glare toward the teen.

Unfortunately Pete came to a decision he'd have to break to Michael in that moment. More than a little embarrassed, Pete eventually smiled too, it was kind of funny. Henrietta broke into talking about a few of the tattoos they'd seen people with at the shop where Jordan worked. Customers could come in with Japanese kanji that actually read really inappropriate phrases and words because the people who got them didn't know any better. It distracted from Pete's embarrassment and he was grateful. Kelly got up to come sit next to him, intrigued by the beautiful coffin and dying to make her own. She turned briefly toward Firkle to show him Pete's and suggested he could doodle little dead babies to go inside of it. Firkle perked up and joined them while Henrietta and Jordan got into making coffin bags.

Pete eyed Firkle and Kelly who he had been keeping in contact with through occasional chat sessions online. Kelly was in the grade above Firkle but they seemed to click in their small group of hardcore kids. Though Firkle and Kelly pretended to date, they were both just protecting each other from being found out for who they really were. Firkle had had an intense bromance going on for a while with the youngest Broflovski and didn't want to expose his friend to the ridicules of high school. Kelly was preventing her parents from suspecting her own homosexual tendencies and harking on her about finding a nice boy. Instead she'd dated her best friend, a not so nice guy in her parent's eyes, but Firkle really was a good kid at heart, just a little bratty and twisted.

When they finished with the crafts they too a break to indulged in card games for a while. By then Kelly had had a little more rum than she should have and was edging ever closer to Pete's side. The two of them had been tough competitors while playing Cards Against Humanity and basically kicked everyone else's ass, even though Henrietta and Jordan were the ones who'd brought the game. She cupped her hand to Pete's ear to whisper something to him and they giggled. Michael looked up from his duct tape to eye them curiously before he watched Kelly lift herself over Pete. She sat on Pete's lap and leaned down, capturing the goth's lips for a kiss. Michael deadpanned, nearly leaping to his feet as his jaw hit the floor.

“Christ,” Firkle cursed as he look at them and then to Michael with worry.

Pete didn't push her away, in fact he returned Kelly's kiss and Michael's composure was boiled away. Then he had the audacity to look Michael in the eye as he kissed someone else. Furious, Michael stood suddenly, certain he would have no problem slapping that bitch down. But before he got close enough, Firkle beat him to Kelly's side and he tugged on her arm.

“Cigarette break,” Firkle declared shortly, “NOW.” Kelly complied, getting up quickly to follow the hand which lead her. Being the youngest, Firkle remembered since he was in elementary school that Michael had a curiously annoying amount of patience, but when something made him angry there was often a subtle and haunting wrath that he bestowed.

But Michael couldn't bring himself to say anything, his voice caught in his throat and cheeks flushed with anger. His glare nearly burned a hole clear through Pete's head who met his eyes with a victorious look. Eyes glued to one another, they didn't see Henrietta whisper in Jordan's ear until they left the room to join Firkle and Kelly outside even if they could have smoked in the house.

“What the fuck,” Michael breathed, dipping his head slightly, his eyes so menacing they could bleed.

“Just payback for that dick in my ear comment,” Pete said softly. “Are you really that jealous? It was my idea, don't hold it against Kelly,” Pete continued.

“Why did you do that?” Michael asked shortly.

“I just told you, payback. You and I aren't even technically dating Michael, learn to take a joke.” Sure, Michael and Pete hadn't officially claimed themselves as dating, but Michael had assumed that was the case considering just how far their relationship had developed. It hurt so badly to hear Pete discredit their intimacy.

Michael wanted to get up and slap Pete to tell the younger goth just how stupid he was. To ask if he really didn't see just how much Michael loved him. But violence wouldn't help and he could never bring himself to raise his hand against Pete. Instead he gave up, feeling heartbroken and helpless. It was such a silly fight to be having and Michael hoped deep down it would resolve itself.

“Fuck you,” Michael spat and he rose quickly to his feet before bolting for his bedroom. He left the lights off and collapsed onto his bed, arms crossed as he lay facing the wall. Michael was confused. What were all of those advances Pete had been making during this visit. And he had stopped smoking because he thought that Pete was serious about them. Sure, Pete had had a few drinks but he knew better, and that Michael knew he knew better. He buried his face in his hands, trying to tell himself this was just a minor altercation but he couldn't manage to calm himself.

A few moments later he heard the front door as Henrietta, Jordan, Firkle and Kelly all took their leave. It was nearing 2 am after all. Then he heard his own bedroom door open. Pete sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“I didn't mean for that to be taken so seriously,” Pete admitted, hesitating a few inches from touching Michael's shoulder before he reconsidered and withdrew. “That's not how I wanted to get this across, and maybe it's bad timing but I've been thinking about it for a while.” He paused for some kind of acknowledgment from Michael and though he received none Pete knew he was listening. “I want us to take a break.”

Michael sniffled before he rolled over enough to look at Pete with disbelief.

“But I love you,” Michael choked out and Pete frowned, sorrow welling in his eyes. He hesitated as Michael brought his hand to cover his own eyes, fingertips pressing over his lids. Pete leaned down and brushed back some of Michael's curls to place a kiss on his temple.

“I love you too,” Pete whispered and his heart skipped a beat when Michael suddenly let out a sob. He stood, picking up his bag and stuffing a few things into it before leaving to head for his mother's house. Michael remained, psychologically punishing himself until he fell asleep.

When Pete got to his mother's house, he let himself in and greeted the woman who was on the computer. She said hello, told him that she missed him and got up to give him a hug. Pete pretended to reciprocate as the woman returned to the computer and he went into his old bedroom. His mother's affection was always so brief and Pete would have found anything more involved troublesome.

He felt badly for hurting Michael in his own act of cowardice but he feared tying himself down to the older goth. After watching his parents split up, Pete felt his nagging inability to really commit coming back full force. It happened every now and again, and unfortunately he was going to drag Michael down too. He hadn't intended to end it by kissing some girl he didn't even know either, it just seemed amusing at the time and fuck, Michael would get over it. They'd been thrown into that relationship so suddenly and Pete knew he was taking it for granted so he wanted to make himself suffer. He needed to appreciate how important Michael was to him, even if that meant hurting his best friend in the process.

Fuck though, regret filled his belly and Pete resisted the urge to turn around, walk back the mile through snow and apologize to Michael. He fell into an uneasy sleep, convincing himself they needed this. Michael might understand one day.

He hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter is coherent enough, I struggle with writing more than a few characters at once. Bah.  
> This is my first summer spending real time writing and I'm addicted to writing the fanfics now. Oh dear.  
> Thank you guys for the Kudos!


	9. Recovery

Michael found himself buried in his own self loathing, unable to think logically about much. He just went with his daily routine, working at the convenience store during the day and his stocking job at Fran's art store in the evening. Michael thought he just wanted to die and waste away, but despite how low he always got, taking the easy way out would never become an option. He'd rather force himself to suffer living until some other force took his life. There was that ever present glimmer of hope that everything would work itself out that always managed to keep him going. His boyfriend, his best friend broke up with him, that wasn't the end of the world. Besides, suicide was for emo kids who couldn't take the challenges life presented, who couldn't manage to reason their way through life to give it worth before the inevitability of death. Or something like that.

Every so often the desire to smoke cigarettes again would eat at him after losing much hope in having quit. Using the electronic cigarette just made him think of Pete and though Michael endured, his need for that rat poison smoke overwhelmed him at times. Cigarette smoking became a kind of psychological punishment, and as if to really make that punishment tangible, he had taken to a habit of putting out the ember on his thigh. Michael was slowly accumulating a new circular burn about once a day or so in a kind of polka-dot pattern. He liked the sensation, like it made his psychological torment a real thing with a sense of physical discomfort. It was like punishing himself for his longing for Pete and his desire to smoke all at once.

He itched at his thigh through his black pants where the burns were healing, wincing for the dull discomfort his fingertips caused. Michael's shoulders sagged as he stood before the box he'd just opened in the back of the art store. Sighing, Michael was surprised when he heard a voice behind him. Kelly came into the back and spoke to him sympathetically.

“Are you alright?” Kelly asked and Michael started to move again, not turning to face her. His expression was one of wrathful reluctance and he only grunted. “I'm really sorry about the other night,” she said with sincerity. Michael made a tch noise under his breath. “It was only suppose to be a joke and I was drunk,” Kelly explained like it could resolve everything.

“Real funny,” Michael spat. “I'm still laughing in fact,” he sneered though he forced his tone to be mostly flat so that his voice didn't tremble with rage.

“Are you guys alright though?” she pried and was getting frustratingly under Michael's skin. “You seem off, you were much more cheery that night, do you miss him?” He turned to her, gritting his teeth.

“He broke it off,” Michael ground out flatly. Seeing her, all young and pretty faced, then remembering when she'd kissed Pete, Michael got the overwhelming desire to dig his thumbs into her eyes.

“Oh no! Was that my fault?” Kelly asked with a gasp. Michael wanted to scream at her, but when he considered the question he realized it wasn't Kelly's fault. It would feel great to blame her instead of his own inadequacies as he'd been doing for the past few days, but Pete had told him he'd been thinking about it for a while and he sighed.

“No,” he answered flatly, sighing again as he turned around to fuck with the boxes.

“If you need anything, I'm always here to talk,” Kelly offered and Michael felt his rage building again with her sincerity.

“Did you need something,” Michael stated more than asked.

“Oh, Fran said she needs more strings of lights up at the front, the rainbow kind,” she responded quickly before leaving. Michael stopped moving since her presence was gone and brought a hand to tear through his tangling curls. He'd stopped brushing his hair out in the shower with conditioner, his shaped eyebrows were growing in too thick where he normally plucked and stubble began to dot his jawline. Usually so meticulously groomed, Michael knew he was hitting a low point when his obsessive cleanliness began to deteriorate.

Gratefully Kelly kept her distance after her initial confrontation with Michael, but he slowly realized her apology had been sincere. Firkle started to show up at the art store just before she'd get off work which annoyed Michael even further. But he seemed more passive and to oppress his typical insufferable attitude around the tall goth as if he took pity on Michael. He started to miss Firkle being an asshole; the last thing he needed was the little guy's pity.

But as he stocked the shelves with nick nacks at the front desks, Michael would overhear Firkle telling some dead baby or similarly morbid joke and he would hate himself for smiling. Though his style may have changed, little Firkle still had that ever present morbid sense of humor which began to endear him to Michael. Maybe it was all part of the hardcore kid's ploy, but Firkle was successfully beginning to rekindle their friendship.

That fight they'd had when Michael was in tenth grade after school with Firkle seemed so distant but it had been the final straw that broke the youngest goth away from the group. Michael always had this suspicious grudge against Firkle ever since that silly emo incident when they were just kids. It was like he was always kind of just been looking for some reason to push Firkle out of the group even though the kid barely remembered that momentary emo phase. And that was what it had been, a phase, because ever since Firkle had just been a bit more of a brutal goth, indulging in this morbid fascination. In fact it bothered Michael a little, the youngest's obsession with gore porn movies and thrashing about to see if he could accidentally make some poor kid's nose bleed in the mosh pit at shows. It countered Michael's status of being an older brother figure, the one who would organize a classic pit where everyone made their rounds without all of that senseless violence. Then Firkle would come in and undermine it all.

They'd been walking home from school, the high school and middle school not far from one another, and Firkle handed Michael a headphone. He was excited about a new band he'd come across and to share it with Michael, but when Firkle played the song he flinched at the heavy screaming voice that wailed in his ear.

“Listen to the chorus, it's great,” Firkle said through his purple lipstick as he walked forward, concentrating on staying close so he didn't pull out Michael's headphone. “It's about this Playboy bunny who has this underlying desire to unleash her dark side and go about chopping misogynistic men to little bits--”

But Michael had taken out the headphone, not even getting to the chorus as he sneered and little Firkle looked up at him.

“Get that shrill screamy shit away from me,” Michael scoffed and Firkle looked a little hurt before anger flashed behind his eyes. “That's not goth,” he continued, “you fucking conformist.”

“Fuck you!” Firkle shouted at him suddenly, the kid's rage boiling over almost instantly. “What are you? Some fucking elitist that gets to judge everything that's considered goth? You know, for a nonconformist you can be a really close-minded fuck, Michael.” He deadpanned and stopped walking, bewildered as to how to respond to Firkle's rebellious out lash. “It's like you've gotten so unaccepting with age. I remember when you used to at least give my discoveries a chance. Fuck you and fuck your goth conformity, you fucking conformist,” Firkle mocked.

Michael watched as Firkle stormed off. He didn't know what to say in that moment, and as he thought of it the following days it sounded like Firkle had been holding that opinion of his back for a while. Michael sighed as he zoned back in to the art store where he stocked little obnoxious round Christmas ornaments for holiday trees. That had been the day that he started to make a conscious effort to avoid calling people conformists.

As much as Michael hated to admit it, having Firkle and his girl friend Kelly present in his life each day almost began to sooth his loneliness. He needed someone around he could relate to to take his mind off of Pete and Michael submitted to Firkle's friendliness. Michael even indulged Firkle, asking him if he would be interested in making him a mixed cd of some tracks he thought Michael might like. After all Firkle's music had a certain angry quality about it that Michael had found appealing as of recent. With the hardcore kid's guidance maybe Michael could weed through the junk of the screamy shit Firkle liked for a few things he could relate to. He got the feeling he wanted something heavier to go along with the dismal and angry music he was gathering for his next podcast.

____________

A few weeks after Michael's night of heartbreak, Henrietta called him up to talk late one evening after work. He thought it was a coincidence that she managed to call while he wasn't at work but quickly found that that wasn't the case. In fact, though he didn't know it, it was his most recent rage filled podcast that had Pete express his concern and drove Henrietta to call Michael to ensure his sanity.

“Hey Henrietta,” Michael sighed as he rested his chin in the palm of his hand, his bony elbow digging into his thigh above his knee as he sat cross-legged on his bed. Surrounded by cds which encircled him, Michael had struggled to lean over them to reach the phone.

“How are you handling living?” Henrietta asked as if walking on broken glass.

“It fucking sucks,” Michael sighed again as if exhausted as he leaned back against the wall and put his fore arm over his eyes.

“What have you been up to?” Henrietta asked, trying not to be too blatant about her concern.

“Work,” he said flatly before giving in. He really wanted someone to talk to and didn't feel comfortable enough around Firkle and Kelly to do so. “And a lot of self loathing,” he admitted before scoffing, wondering just how pathetic he sounded.

“Because of Pete?” she asked and Michael's suspicion for why she called was confirmed by the tone in her voice.

“Yeah, but I'll survive,” Michael sighed again, fuck he was doing that a lot recently. “Unfortunately,” he added. Henrietta chuckled and Michael said, “Definitely not funny,” with a flat tone.

“I know, my bad. He's really conflicted,” Henrietta explained. “He didn't mean to make such a dramatic thing out of the breakup, but technically you weren't even dating to begin with, right?”

“So I've heard, but I kind of assumed with all of the kissing and affectionate body language that dating was a given.”

“He was just concerned that it was a friend with benefits sort of deal,” Henrietta continued. “Pete wanted it to be deeper but was afraid you two couldn't reconcile the meaning once the relationship developed to what it was.”

“Then why the fuck couldn't he have told me that himself?” Michael sneered, his frustration eating away at his patience. “Why are you the one telling me this for that matter?”

“Because he still loves you, and I thought you should know,” Henrietta continued. “It's just hard for him to sort out what he wants right now. He's afraid to talk to you.”

“Ugh,” Michael scoffed dramatically. “What the fuck does he want me to do? Prove I'm worthy or something. I fucking love him, that should be enough.” Though Michael didn't want to tell Henrietta that, the words just poured out of him and he supposed it was easier being able to disclose it all over the phone rather than in person. “I didn't think we needed to declare the whole dating thing, that's so...conventional.”

“His birthday is coming up in a month,” Henrietta stated abruptly because she didn't have any real answer to Michael's question. “He's invited me over for it since I insisted he do so,” and Michael could hear the smile in her voice. “I was thinking I might be able to pick up a certain friend on the drive through South Park,” she suggested.

“I really don't think he wants to see me,” Michael countered.

“That gives you guys a whole month to chill,” Henrietta reasoned. “At this stage I know it's too soon, but I can tell by the way Pete talks about it he wants you to make the next move.”

“He told you that?” Michael asked, needing his glimmer of hope verified.

“Not in so many words, but basically. Something about how you should take more initiative and stop always needing his permission.”

“I came to fucking see him once a month, every fucking month on my own!” Michael said into his cell, raising his arm from his eyes and flinging it to the side for emphasis as he stared at the stars on his ceiling. He wished ripping them down in that moment didn't involve so much effort, remembering Pete had helped him stick them up there. “Ugh,” he said again as if his complaint alone didn't emphasize his dissatisfaction.

“Well then, why don't you do something unexpected?” Henrietta suggested and that piqued Michael's interest.

“You mean surprise him by just showing up?” Michael asked, the idea not altogether unappealing.

“Now you're getting somewhere,” Henrietta said.

“Okay,” Michael confirmed as his mind raced with a surprising amount of energy considering his depression the previous few weeks. “Okay,” he said again as a few ideas and possibilities came to mind.

“Excellent,” Henrietta replied, the smile in her voice even more evident.  


____________

The following month Henrietta called Michael just about every other day and he was surprised just how much they found to talk about. Without Pete to chat with online every day he was admittedly hungry for conversation, and Henrietta helped him with suggestions to organize his next podcasts or they talked about every day events at work. The theme for his podcast that month was repentance and expressed his desire to reconcile what he'd lost. Those collections of music were really starting to serve Michael well, each mirroring the events that went on in his life. It was almost therapeutic and they listened to it on repeat during the drive to Pete's.

Emerging from the passenger seat of Henrietta's deep purple Mustang, Michael straightened himself awkwardly, readjusting to his height after having ridden so close to the ground for two hours. He pulled the seat forward to reach in the back and pick up his belongings, including some groceries he and Henrietta had just picked up to make Pete a cake. With their elaborate cake plan Michael was grateful Henrietta was there to help him make it happen because cooking wasn't his forte.

Otherwise, his heart felt like it was having mad spasms in his chest while his tummy churned for his anxiety. Pete wasn't expecting him and Michael might as well have prayed his presence would be well received for all his uncertainty, even if there was no one to hear him. They paused at the front door after Henrietta rang the door bell and was greeted by an excitedly fast swing of the door. Pete immediately embraced Henrietta, even though her hands were full, giving her a peck on the cheek before he realized someone was with her. Knowing she'd left Jordan behind so Pete didn't feel awkward entertaining someone he barely knew, he was surprised to see Michael's familiar face. His hair had grown out a bit, his curls nearly falling into his eyes and looking especially luxurious. They contradicted Michael's 5 o'clock shadow and freshly plucked eyebrows.

Pete frowned up at him with a gentle and passive, “Hey,” his only greeting.

“Hey,” Michael breathed, all of his built up anxiety slowly draining from him and something resembling exhaustion nagged at his mind. “Happy birthday,” he said quickly as Pete eyed him, uncertain if he should be mad or exactly how to act.

“Thanks,” Pete said as he let Michael in and closed the door behind him. Michael struggled with the bags in his hands and Pete approached him. “Let me help you with that,” he said, freeing up one of Michael's hands so he could set down everything else. He swore as the little shock of sensation shot through his body when Pete's hands brushed his.

After unpacking the three set out to have lunch at a local cafe Michael was admittedly familiar with. He and Pete stopped there every time Michael had been in town to see the new art they rotated out once a month. The three got coffee, and Henrietta got a kick out of the exhibition of photographs of bones arranged in intricate pattern and taken from afar so that at first they just look like filigree patterns in black and white. It wasn't until the three leaned in closer that they realized the lines and dots were actually skulls and bones. She excitedly bought a poster for each of them before they walked through the chilly streets downtown. Pete took them through the tour of the college campus since Henrietta insisted and Michael listened to the other two chatter away to catch up on things.

“We could always do the pic nick in the cemetery thing if you like?” Pete suggested and Henrietta perked up immediately. “It's a little chilly but there's this marble mausoleum with a decent stoop we could set up on.”

“I don't mind the cold,” Henrietta said quickly before looking over to Michael, “You?”

“Fine with me,” Michael said in agreement, smiling gently as he fiddled with the neck of his turtleneck sweater beneath his white button down shirt. It granted Pete a quick glance in his direction and Michael saw him hesitate, his pierced lips twitching. Pete was intrigued by Michael's new unkempt look, if not a little bewildered and he had this stupid desire to feel what that stubbly jawline felt like beneath his fingertips. He took out his chap stick to distract himself, coating his lips quickly and it was Michael's turn to watch from the corner of his eye. Henrietta snickered on the other side of Pete who hid his face in his scarf, forgetting the chap stick on his lips as he cheeks became just a bit rosier.

____________

Michael emerged from the church with two fresh, beautiful bouquets in his hands. He approached the marble block at the front of a mausoleum where his two friends sat on a blanket, snacking and looking out over the field of carved stones. He paused before handing a handful of flowers each to Henrietta and Pete.

“Did you just steal flowers from some dead guy's funeral?” Pete asked, lips pursed as he looked down at the bouquet in his hands. He glanced toward Henrietta who touched the flowers of her own bouquet fondly, seeming impartial to the immorality of the act.

“What's some dead guy going to do with them?” Michael shrugged before justifying himself. “Flowers are better off with the rest of their condemned lives bringing joy to the living.”

Pete shook his head slowly and for a moment Michael thought he'd made an ass of himself before the corners of the red haired goth's lips twitched upward. Pete inhaled the sweetness, closing his eyes briefly and it was enough encouragement for Michael.

“Also,” he began hesitantly, sitting closely in front of Pete and Henrietta. He fumbled in his pocket for a little black and silver ring, tracing it with his fingers as he exhaled the tension in his chest silently. Extracting the intricately detailed steel ring, Michael held it out for Pete, hoping dearly this would all work out. He already wore its twin on his right ring finger. “Would you like to be my boyfriend?” Michael asked and added, “Officially” for good measure.

Michael's heart dropped when Pete frowned but realized as the younger goth's eyes became glossy it was because he was containing some kind of pent up emotion. Pete held out a bare hand and Michael put the ring on his red nail polished finger, his heart thrumming in his chest, hoping his best friend's pulse might resemble his.

“Yeah,” Pete breathed softly, like he'd been anticipating that moment and since it finally came it left him breathless. In fact he was worried the moment may never come at all, that perhaps Michael really didn't want anything specific in life, even him. Michael himself thought he died a little from happiness with Pete's answer.

He avoided Michael's eyes until the taller goth leaned in toward him and fingertips brushed back the streaked fringe of his hair. A curly haired forehead met his own and Pete closed his eyes, tilting his head back just enough for their lips to meet gingerly. It was a chaste peck as Pete pulled away but Michael's fingers cupped his jaw and drew him back. Pete smiled deviously against Michael's tentative lips which moved ever so slowly, affectionately, like he was careful with something he'd misplaced and didn't want to lose it again.

Henrietta cleared her throat next to them and Michael looked up while Pete tipped his head downward, the broad grin still stretching his lips.

“Aaawe!” Henrietta mocked, half meaning it to perhaps make them feel more awkward than she did. It was working.

Michael scooted up beside Pete, taking the smaller goth's hand in his. Pete looked down, eying the intricate design of silver on black and the same ring on the other's hand. The only other ring Michael wore that day, despite his tendency to adorn as many as possible, was one Pete had given him in middle school. Unfortunately the ring got stuck after Michael wore it for over a year through a growth spurt and it was there ever since. Pete smiled.

_____________

When the three returned to Pete's place Henrietta and Michael extracted the intricate cake they'd made from the freezer. Pete smiled broadly when they cut into it and the cake appeared to ooze blood, thoroughly entertained. As they ate the bleeding ice cream cake Pete's hand took Michael's.

“How do you manage to get your nails to grow out so beautifully?” Pete asked.

“They just always have,” Michael shrugged, licking at his fork.

“Hey Hen, did you bring any nail polish with you?”

“Of course,” Henrietta answered with interest, speaking volumes with Pete just by eye contact. Michael frowned between them, knowing all too well what was coming.

Between Henrietta and Pete, they had an assortment of blue, purple, pink, red and of course black nail polish. Pete was especially intrigued with a glittery one Henrietta had with little black stars and Michael sat back, forfeiting his hands to his friends. He sighed, realizing Pete and Henrietta were doing something different with every nail and rolled his eyes at the cluster fuck of colors he wound up with. One of Henrietta's nails had pinstripes, another a coffin, and one with a bat while Pete made a messy pink and blue combination like highlighters had spilled on Michael's fingers with glittered accents.

“Tada!” Pete exclaimed finally, taking another taste of icing left over on his plate. Michael raised his hands into the light and Henrietta laughed at his expression.

“You've had your fun, now take it off,” Michael insisted, rolling his eyes at Pete's cheeky grin.

“No way, you leave it on,” Pete stated before leaning closer to Michael with some fiendish version of puppy dog eyes that startled him. “It is my birthday,” he stated and Michael sighed.

“I need a drink,” Michael stated and Pete perked up.

He went over to the pantry, pointing to its top at a specific bottle of his aunt's vintage wine. Michael stood to retrieve it and the three sat in the living room while Pete opened a few presents and they sat watching a movie.

Henrietta got up from where she'd fallen asleep on the couch next to Pete and Michael to retire for the spare bedroom. It was late, into the wee hours of the morning and she cut off the television. Sleepily Henrietta paused to poke the back of Michael's head, making it droop forward and wake him up with a start. Chuckling at Michael's reaction, Henrietta ascended the stairs while Pete stirred against the taller goth's shoulder.

Michael stood, looking down through his blurry vision at Pete who rubbed his eyes sleepily. He held out his hand and Pete took it, leading them up to their bedroom. Michael undressed until he was in his boxers, shedding clothes onto the floor like a path of crumbs in his wake. Pete did similar and pressed his back into Michael's front when he laid down. A long forearm looped in front of Pete's chest, drawing them skin tight as Michael pulled the cover over them.

Michael hid his cheek into Pete's neck, pulled from near sleep when hands gripped his arm. Pete lifted Michael's arm, eying it in the darkness before kissing the pale inside. Michael shivered slightly, knowing just what had caught Pete's interest. After all the younger goth had spent most of the evening running his fingertips back and forth over the faintest of lines that intersect all over the interior of Michael's arm.

Pete had nearly forgotten about Michael's teen angst when the man had once gone through a stint of seeing his life as pointless. It was what happened when Michael thought too deeply, his emotions would flood over his senses and Pete scolded himself. He had thought Michael was careless in not thinking about what was to come in his life, but Pete had known it was because it was how he coped with thinking too much.

Pete bit the light scar tissue gently, wondering if it might be more stiff than Michael's original skin. But Michael had cared about him after everything and made the advance to claim Pete for his own. Pete smiled against Michael's inner arm and shunned all of his thoughts, letting the mind numbing sensation of alcohol lull him to sleep.


	10. Do We Move Your World

When summer came Michael was disappointed Pete wouldn't be coming back to South Park for the break. He wasn't surprised though, as Pete had said before there was nothing left for him to do but hang out with Michael in that small town and that simply wasn't enough. Pete had taken advantage of his opportunities in his college town instead, taking up a part time job at a coffee shop/bar and an internship writing small columns and editing in a local magazine.

However, since classes were out Pete wasn't as restricted to needing the after school time for homework, his schedule being more consistent day to day. Michael was able to visit for an entire week rather than just a weekend. He couldn't be more thrilled.

The summer was surprisingly warm in Colorado when he visited that week though, and he had to borrow some of Pete's black wife beaters to stay cool. Disgruntled, it was usually so temperate that time of year, even chilly, and Michael had brought pants and long sleeve over-shirts he could roll up the sleeves on, but they were all too warm. He cursed global warming.

Michael made a point of moving quickly from one building to the next to avoid the heat. Pete reached over to Michael who wasn't paying attention to hand him a piece of paper.

Looking down at the rainbow flier in his hand Michael shifted on his feet anxiously.

“A pride parade?” he asked, glancing up at Pete who avoided Michael's nervous gaze. It wasn't as if Michael had needed to have a “coming out of the closet” experience since his mother was accepting regardless and he had only a couple of friends. The idea of standing in a group of people in public made him nervous enough, let alone to be recognized as “gay” among them, with his partner no less. Suddenly Michael felt very defined under a number of labels he hadn't even thought about before; disregarding social stigmas had always come so naturally for him.

He winced, considering Pete's situation and felt a sudden obligation to indulge the younger goth. After all, it was Pete who had suffered for who he was and still hid from being open with his family.

His parents had divorced and his mother who he spent most of his youth with was a kind woman but painfully ignorant and dull. She enjoyed working retail, a fact which frustrated Pete beyond explanation, but he had no choice but to claim to love her because it would break his mother's feeble heart if he said otherwise. In a way Pete was all his mother had. When she'd told him she was glad she hadn't committed suicide shortly after his birth, Pete was assured he was what made his mother's life worth living. Pete hadn't told her about his orientation yet and had no real intention to. Ever.

Then Michael remembered Pete telling him about what his much older sister had said. She had lived with their father for a few years after the separation before she was old enough to move out. Concerned about Pete, their father had said something like “I'm just glad he's not gay,” shortly after Pete had started dating a girl in high school which lasted a spectacular two weeks. Pete had been painfully quiet for the following week and it was no wonder he'd been so upset when Michael happened to kiss him. Michael grimaced again, forgetting where he was, consumed in his recollection.

“You don't want to go,” Pete said flatly with disappointment reading Michael's expression.

“Won't we be so hot standing there in the sun on the roadside watching the thing for hours?” Michael asked. He knew he was going and it would probably be pretty entertaining, but he figured he'd go ahead and disclose any protests and concerns then for good measure. Michael just needed a protest that didn't put Pete at fault was all.

“We can use an umbrella or parasol like we used to back in high school if you like,” Pete said as they sat down on the couch in his aunt's living room. “I still have some stored away up in the attic.” Michael shrugged at this as if it was a convincing consideration.

“Alright,” he resigned. “But you'll have to loan me another tank top or something.”

“You could always go shirtless,” Pete suggested, his eyebrows raised with sudden enthusiasm.

“With all of those prying eyes?” Michael joked, his confidence not leveling himself with being much of a pleasant sight without a shirt. Pete however, considered this a logical threat and decided he'd rather leave Michael's features for his consumption alone. They could be provocative, Pete considered, that was never a bad idea. Then something came to mind.

“Wait here,” Pete said suddenly and Michael nodded though he was a little taken aback as his friend leaped from the couch. He ran up to his bedroom and Michael toyed with speakers to plug in his iPod. Nearly forgetting he'd just created a new podcast episode, Michael played it and smiled gently. Pete didn't need to know what the theme that month was, or that Michael had selected songs that specifically conveyed his feelings for the younger man. He heard Pete coming up the hall again and lowered the volume so they could easily speak.

Michael grew curious because Pete had his arms full of laptop and other things as he sat down on the floor in the middle of the room. Pete set down a bundle of black cloth, Sharpies and scissors before he opened up his laptop.

“What's all this?” Michael asked as he moved from the couch to the floor. Picking up the bundle Michael found two black t shirts and glanced up at Pete who typed on his computer.

“There's this cool tutorial on Pinterest,” Pete started before Michael raised his eyebrows. Glancing up to read Michael's expression Pete added, “Shut it,” as he realized how conformist having a Pinterest must be. “Here,” he said stubbornly, turning the computer screen toward Michael.

“Oh,” Michael said, surprised he thought it neat as well. After all DIY clothing had been one of his longest lived interests in high school. Pete smiled triumphantly.

“Right? So first let's draw out the design with these,” Pete said as he handed Michael a black sharpie. “Then,” he motioned as he held up a pair of scissors in hand and made a snipping motion.

Half an hour later, Michael and Pete had two shirt with holes cut in the back to resemble the eye holes, nose and teeth of skulls. Michael held his up next to Pete's.

“Damn,” Michael complained as he compared the two. “Mine has a saggy eye.” Pete burst out in laughter, not expecting Michael to be so obsessive.

“It's cute,” Pete said next to him. “And now at least we won't be so warm with holes in the backs of our shirts,” he added expectantly and Michael nodded, realizing he hadn't actually told Pete he was going.

“Alright,” Michael sighed and Pete beamed at him. He leaned to kiss Michael on the cheek and the tall man turned his head expectantly as Pete pulled back, their eyes meeting. Smiling again, Pete waited as Michael leaned in to kiss his lips.

____________

However, the following day when Pete and Michael dressed for the parade, coming downstairs to fill their zombie thermoses with iced coffee, the taller goth hesitated.

“You're not wearing that,” Michael said, eying the surprisingly short cut of Pete's black shorts.

“What?” Pete shrugged, looking down as he turned to face Michael. “It's hot.”

“Exactly,” Michael said and Pete paused.

“I meant outside, it's hot outside,” Pete said, flushing with realization. “Here,” he said suddenly, thrusting a cold thermos toward Michael who took it, smelling the iced coffee Pete had prepared for them to hide his smile.

They stood beneath the shadow of their black umbrella, sipping cold coffee and watching the colorful floats pass by. Troupes of flamboyantly dressed, half nude people passed as they waved or threw candy in the summer heat. When Michael considered with the way people their age dressed, Pete's shorts weren't really that provocative in comparison after all. Occasionally Michael would glance over at Pete, exposing his worry at the other nearly naked guys. Pete would just look at him, laugh, then nudge Michael's skinny arm with his elbow who would smile back. It was exhilarating at least, being surrounded by so many friendly, open-minded people who cheered while drag queens danced, distributing colorful beads.

“When are you going to wear lady's lingerie for me again?” Pete asked enticingly, eying one of the drag queens. Michael forced himself to frown to resist smirking as he shrugged nonchalantly, seriously considering the question.

“If you're really into that sort of thing,” Michael offered and Pete glanced up at him to laugh shortly. He'd keep Michael's lack of resistance in the back of his mind for future reference. Pete felt so giddy, reveling in the underlying rebellious satisfaction he got for enjoying officially recognizing himself as a part of a community his family condemned for so long.

Pete left Michael's side for a moment to return with Popsicles in hand. On his way he walked more slowly to admire Michael's boney shouldered silhouette against the bright day as he sheltered himself with the umbrella. Michael laughed as he took the blue one, resisting the urge to turn the fruity pillar of ice into a sexual innuendo. He was briefly startled when Pete's hand met the damp of his lower back, pulling Michael closer as those fingertips weaved with the holey cotton fabric to press into his skin. Pete's fingertips sought out the slight knots of Michael's spine absentmindedly. He tried to hide the shiver that coursed pleasantly up his spine.

“Petie!” they heard a woman's voice call and Michael turned only when Pete did, not immediately realizing the woman was addressing his partner.

“Aunt Helena,” Pete said aloud, his lips stretching into a happy grin. “Welcome back!” They embraced while the last parade float drove slowly by. “You remember Michael,” Pete said as he turned to take his friend's arm.

“Of course!” Helena reached out to shake Michael's hand with a grin before pulling him in for a hug. Michael smiled gently at her, remembering that this was Pete's mother, his father, his guidance. He surely had Helena to thank for Pete's acceptance of himself. “And this is Marina,” she said turning to a thinner woman who appeared to be about Helena's age. She too held out her hand to meet Michael who presumed she was Helena's partner. “How about I take you kids out for a late lunch?” Helena offered more than asked and Pete took Michael's hand to smile up at him.

Helena had always seemed to be out of town when Michael usually visited Pete, but he remembered her from when they were kids. She was always so friendly, actually doting upon Pete for the holidays and his birthday when his parents would forget about their son, too caught up making a fuss over their lack of money. Helena had even taken Pete out to look at the in state colleges, giving him a real sense for a future outside of South Park.

Michael listened to Pete's enthusiasm as he told his aunt how he'd been. The four of them sat at a table in a restaurant more expensive than Pete or Michael had tried on their own. Feeling content but perhaps a little timid in the presence of Helena, Michael was pulled from his slight daze when Pete spoke toward him.

“Aunt Helena helped arrange the first Pride Parade in this town,” Pete said excitedly and Michael smiled. She would have done such a thing, and Michael recognized the adoration Pete had in his eyes.

“It was a little rough at first, and they even quit having them for a little while with the negative backlash the parade brought, that was about the time I moved to the coast. But I'm glad it's happening again.”

“She studied here too,” Pete said as if it explained everything about his own choice in college. “That's why her second home is here.”

“I couldn't bring myself to sell it and when Pete expressed interest in studying here I was grateful that someone would be there to keep up with the place,” Helena explained before turning to address Pete directly. “Though I admittedly hoped you would have made some friends by now that could share the place. I'm concerned about renting it to wild college kids but if they were your friends I'm sure they'd be sensible enough I could trust them.”

“Yeeeah,” Pete sighed apologetically and he consciously bit at the straw in his drink.

“I don't suppose you're interested in moving here?” Helena turned toward Michael who was startled, especially when Pete sat up straight and eyed him intently.

“That would be up to Pete,” Michael disclosed, his voice quieter than he meant it to be. He wanted to say something like 'Fuck yes I'm interested, how soon can it happen?' but resisted under Pete's unreadable gaze and decided to take the neutral route. Michael only hoped Helena could read the longing in his eyes.

“Well in the mean time you're more than welcome to keep stopping by, Michael,” Helena said with a friendly smile, briefly placing her hand over Michael's. It was almost strange being accepted by another family, especially Pete's when it had always just been his mother welcoming his friends into their own.

A little later after Michael and Pete both peaked at the cost of lunch and glanced toward one another in dismay, the four parted ways. Reveling in the air conditioner of Pete's place as soon as they got through the door, Michael sighed, raising his arm to shake his shirt and air out his body.

_____________

Waking late the next day, Pete suggested he show Michael the cafe where he'd be spending a significant amount of his summer.

They walked to Pete's new job that evening, and Michael was introduced to the bar/coffee shop. The place was unique, filled with seating at tables surrounded by walls always covered in artwork. As the sun set Michael was surprised when they went out back to find a slew of people dancing to no music. Bewildered, he and Pete stood off to the side, watching the mass of moving bodies as his friend began to explain.

“It's called a silent disco,” Pete introduced. “Basically you get a pair of headphones and those Djs,” Pete gestured to the two men on either side of the outdoor space, “Play their music on separate channels so you can flip between them.” As he looked up to read Michael's response, Pete was a little surprised to see the older goth smiling.

“I haven't danced in ages,” Michael admitted, but he certainly knew how. Back when they were younger Michael had been inspired by the goths dancing on the street in an old Skinny Puppy video and had been determined to learn to dance. He'd learned a little more than what he knew for that dance off in elementary school for sure, and was honestly looking forward to moving to the music again. There was always such a freedom it granted.

Pete was reluctant to share his desire to dance with Michael since this would certainly be outside of both their taste in music. Michael looked upon Pete with enthusiasm who was pleased his idea wasn't arguable. Of course the drinks they'd had earlier didn't hinder either of their enthusiasm and Michael insisted on paying for the two sets of headphones.

They submerged their ears in a wash of heavy beats and suddenly the movement of the crowd around them made sense. Though the music was pretty typical mainstream dance music, it was tolerable and Michael and Pete could get into it. A little stiff at dancing, Michael just began with movements from side to side from the knees as he twisted his arms around. Pete moved around him shaking his hips along the way and they smiled when their eyes met.

An hour later Michael and Pete were both heated and damp, switching between the two different DJs. Pete moved to one beat while Michael shook to the other. Then Pete began to make a dipping motion with several of the others in the crowd apparently recognizing the song as well. Curiously, Michael switched to the other DJ Pete must be hearing and the song was vaguely familiar but something newer than he recognized. Apparently Pete had been out dancing a few times to know how to follow the specific routine he moved to and Michael was captivated as he moved closer. His attention distracted, Michael's body movements softened and Pete came so close to him he anticipated them touching. But they didn't, instead Pete indulged in some kind of erotic hip swinging which Michael had seen woman on television do once or twice before. He kept arching his back and jutting his ass out, then turning to tease Michael before dipping to the ground and repeating the movements.

Lost in this, the song changed before Michael knew it and Pete returned to his normal dancing. He retreated, motioning toward Pete that he was going to get something more to drink. Pete took off his headphones and Michael did too so they could talk to one another. They were awkward, half yelling at each other after having adjusted to the volume of the headphones and suddenly being confronted with near silence. A little disoriented, Pete joined Michael for several jello shots and the taller goth studied his friend closely as a pierced tongue slipped into the plastic dish to scoop out the green substance. Michael copied him before they returned to the dance floor for another hour or so of hypnotic movements.

________

Pete showered first, then Michael to wash away the night. Michael rolled his eyes after rubbing his hair dry with a towel when he realized it was the last one. Trying to dry his skin with the one he'd used on his hair, Michael sighed because it was too saturated and left him damp. His hair had grown longer recently and his thick, curly locks collected an unnecessary amount of water. Wrapping the towel around him, Michael opened the bathroom door to Pete's room as the flood of cold air washed over him. His nipples perked up as his skin dotted with goosebumps.

“I need another towel,” he said as Pete looked up from a magazine where he lay on his belly. He was in only his Batman boxer briefs and smiled gently as he saw Michael shiver. Standing, Pete approached the cold man who watched him with more intensity then he realized.

“No need,” Pete said as he took the towel to unwrap it from Michael's waist. “I'll warm you up,” and he looked seductively up at the taller man with an insinuating smile. Michael couldn't help but remember the way Pete had danced against him and indulged himself in what he'd want to do for the whole rest of the night. He leaned toward Pete and slowly closed their distance. His lips sweet from jello shots, Michael savored Pete's equally sweet kiss, gentle and almost chaste in comparison to what he anticipated for the evening. Michael's hands pushed down Pete's boxer briefs which fell to the floor as the dry naked front of the man joined with his damp skin. As Michael blindly reached to cut out the lights Pete broke their kiss to jerk his arm back down.

“Leave it on, I wanna to see,” he breathed. Michael wanted to tell Pete he didn't want to be exposed but he knew it would be no use since the brat would get his way. The idea of subtle humiliation brought on by Pete's eyes on his naked form wasn't altogether unpleasant anyway. Pete eyed Michael's lewd expression, his lids low and lips parted as he panted quietly with excitement. He leaned forward to lick Michael's lips slowly which parted to let his own tongue forward to meet Pete's. Without bringing their lips together their tongues caressed one another until Michael's hand wandered between them and covered Pete's stiffening member. Pete froze then as he moaned softly, withdrawing his tongue slowly. Michael's seemed to chase Pete's tongue and he overtook the shorter goth's mouth, delving and lapping between his submissive lips. Large, thin hands kneaded his cock and balls until Pete felt like he couldn't breathe.

Michael finally pulled back to let them pant for air and Pete pushed him toward the bed. Michael reached to pull Pete with him, but as he backed toward the mattress he stumbled. Pete took advantage of his clumsiness, shoving Michael before he could regain his footing so that the man fell back hard upon the mattress, bouncing slightly. Michael laughed shortly in amusement before Pete snatched up the towel he used to dry his own body and threw it over curly hair. Pete crawled over Michael who laughed, rubbing his head vigorously to dry the dripping curls before standing to hang the towel over the hook on his door. Pete returned quickly, straddling Michael's calves, pausing as his eyes trailed up long, thin legs.

Pete froze, his fingertips gently grazing through Michael's short dark hairs at the strange pink dots on his skin

“What are these?” he asked, hushed.

“Oh,” Michael began, licking his lips as he lifted his head. “Punishment,” and he paused when Pete's attention shot up at him, his eyes demanding explanation. “It- When I thought you had left me for good I started to smoke cigarettes again and it pissed me off, made me think of you, so I started to put them out on my leg.”

“Idiot,” Pete growled before he bent low, nipping with his teeth against a few of the older burns. Michael gasped in pain, the wounds searing, the fresh scar tissue unbearably sensitive. His voice shuttered as Pete's tongue replaced his merciless teeth and Michael writhed beneath the attention.

With that lovely, pained sound, Pete rose quickly to take Michael's wrists and shoving them into the soft material above his head. Pete lay flush against Michael's front, thrusting gently as the man moaned.

“Mmm,” Michael got out before his own lips were stolen by Pete, stifling his moan but not stopping it. He thrust up against Pete the best he could, the shorter goth's own hips overtaking his movements, leaving him devoid of power. Pete's lips lifted from his own, slick with saliva as he peered down into Michael's face. His eyelids faltering, Michael looked up into Pete's gaze which bore into him, and he tried to move his hands so he could touch the thrusting man above him. But those hands around his wrists tightened and Pete's thrusts grew rough as he rubbed them together and Michael swore he heard a growl from the man's throat. As Michael closed his eyes, tipping his head back as he resigned himself to pleasure, there was a clicking above him. He looked up to find Pete's attention looking past him and Michael tried to lean his head back to see what was going on with no success. Something cold encompassed Michael's wrists and though Pete's hands moved down Michael's were still pinned over his head. Slowly he grasped what restrained him before Pete's hands pinched at his nipples and Michael gasped. The thrusting between them resumed until both grew frantic, their hips driven by hot friction and desperation. Michael grew close, his own movements short and needy as Pete lifted himself from their contact.

Michael whined in disappointment and he wanted to sob when Pete chuckled at him. Lips met his jawline and moved downward to graze his collarbone. Pete's teeth teased the protruding bone before he bit at Michael's thin flesh who gasped in discomfort. Pete's lips sucked loudly at the spot so that it would leave a lovely red bruise the following day.

“You're so skinny,” Pete whispered into the crook of Michael's neck as he lowered his hips to briefly rub them together again. “All skin and bone,” he continued as he removed his hips again and Michael whimpered softly, “Like a corpse.” And Pete's teeth descended upon a flushed nipple. He grazed it then sucked with all his strength as Michael writhed beneath him. Pete moved down, digging his fingertips into the sides of Michael's ribcage as he drug his short nails slowly down the man's sides.

“Mmmn!” Michael panted in return, uncertain whether the harsh scratch was painful or pleasant. He lifted his head to look down and see what Pete was doing once the nails stopped mid hip. Pete looked up at him and their eyes locked as a wet tongue slowly descended from lips just above the head of Michael's painfully erect cock. Swearing that time was moving especially slow, Michael watched Pete's tongue draw close and when it met the underside of his sensitive tip Michael's head fell back against the bed. His hips tried to thrust upward of their own accord, seeking out that mouth so close to pleasuring him but Pete's hands gripped his hips, anchoring him to the mattress. Michael pulled against the handcuffs which kept his balled fists above his head. Pete's tongue left him too soon and as Michael felt the bed shift, he raised his head to see what was going on.

“Lift your hips,” Pete instructed and Michael complied as a pillow was put beneath him, then a second before dropping his hips. The angle was strange though not uncomfortable, but Michael's breathing never slowed as he realized how much this would expose him to Pete's eyes. “Good,” Pete coaxed, rewarding his partner as his tongue licked up the underside of Michael's erection. His lips closed around the head, sucking powerfully before pulling off of Michael altogether with a loud pop.

Michael wanted to sob for his need but he contained the sound painfully in his chest instead. Pete shifted again, but Michael was too consumed in his pent up lust to pay attention. Then something covered his eyes and Michael's lips parted in question. He felt elastic stretch behind his head which he lifted slightly to assisted Pete without really thinking about it.

“What?” Michael breathed, realizing his ability to see had been taken from him and he panicked for a moment.

“Shh,” Pete hushed him. “That's a good boy,” and Michael settled down a little at the sound of Pete's praise. Lips brushed his own and Michael trembled as he tried to capture them, but they were gone. He felt Pete's presence move lower again and Michael clenched up nervously, his thighs coming close together.

“Spread your legs,” Pete instructed and Michael complied a little but not very far before his body froze. “More,” Pete said and Michael shook his head. He couldn't stand the idea of Pete looking at him so closely, seeing all of him when Michael didn't even have the power to see what was being done to himself. Michael swallowed hard as he sensed Pete's frustration.

“Michael,” Pete said softly and fingertips traced up the insides of Michael's sensitive, dark haired thighs. His legs trembling, Michael swallowed again as his hands strained against the handcuffs. Lips wrapped around the tip of his cock which dripped with his precum and Michael lost control of his tight leg muscles as Pete hummed around him. He tried to keep his legs together but instead they were easily pushed apart by Pete's insistent hands as Michael's body wanted to grant more access to his needy cock. The mouth left him again as Pete's hands forced his legs apart, the insides of his thighs stretching so that Michael's intimacy was exposed for those prying eyes.

“Pe--,” Michael began before he gasped loudly and a mouth met with his exposed pucker. He tried to close his legs, to hide himself away, but his faltering strength was easily outmatched by Pete's. As a wet tongue lapped at his entrance, Pete's face buried between his legs, Michael lost all of his composure and will to fight. He groaned and was astonished to find himself wanting Pete deeper, to go inside of him.

Pete's short nails drug down Michael's thighs and across the soft flesh of his ass, squeezing him and spreading him. Two thumbs joined Pete's curious tongue and Michael could feel as one tip pressed into his tight being. Despite its resistance, Pete relented and the thumb entered Michael who squeezed the digit tightly. Michael groaned loudly, the sensation dominating his self restraint as an overwhelming mixture of indistinguishable feelings consumed him. Pete's thumb plunged the short distance into Michael that it could before retreating enough to grant room for Pete's tongue to join it. Michael was lost in his own voice, pleasure and discomfort mixing to shoot jolts of excitement to his cock which dripped heavily. Pete's tongue left him and another wet thumb joined the other, relenting against his tightness to bury themselves into Michael. Then Pete pulled his thumbs apart, stretching Michael slowly as they withdrew so that only their tips opened up the tight ring.

Pete's mouth pressed against Michael, his tongue entering freely, slurping loudly. Sobbing beyond Pete's intrusion, Michael was a puddle of shameful pleasure on the mattress beneath him. Pete was so hard as his tongue searched out Michael's insides, wishing the pink muscles weren't so restricted by their own length. He watched Michael's cock twitch with excitement as his tongue ventured mindlessly, encouraged by the lovely, desperate sounds that fell from his lover's lips. Finally Pete withdrew and Michael was lost with his lack of vision, realizing he'd been imagining what Pete was doing beneath the darkness of his eyelids.

Left with the emptiness of Pete's abandoned intrusion, Michael could do nothing but desire release. His mind was blank, the only thing steering his consciousness was the straining cock between his hips. As Pete's fingertips brushed the underside of Michael's cock the man's body jumped with the sudden contact. Pete would have smiled were he not so consumed in his lust, his fingertips collecting Michael's essence from his twitching, needy cock.

“Tell me you want it,” Pete whispered, his voice sounding strange and restricted to his own ears. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“No,” Michael ground out, his hips rolling so that he might gain more contact than just the fingertips on his arousal. Michael's heart jumped into his throat as the bed shifted and Pete climbed over him. Lips drew near Michael's ear and he trembled as Pete spoke.

“But my cock want's you so badly,” Pete whispered as he rubbed himself roughly against Michael. “Can you feel it?” he asked, his breath hushed and Pete let his voice betray his need. “Don't you want to make me feel good?”

Michael nodded, his throat dry with his inability to speak.

Oh fuck, he wanted to make Pete feel good so badly, because Pete was making him feel so good, and Pete's pleasure was his own.

Need consumed him and Michael shuddered as Pete's lips claimed him, his mouth devouring pleading groans. Pete's kiss pulled away but still their chins touched as he patiently awaited Michael's response.

“Fuck me,” Michael breathed, his shaking voice barely a whisper.

Pete, already positioned and ready to penetrate Michael pressed into the man beneath him. Michael's mouth fell agape and Pete leaned back to make his entrance easier. A long, drawn out moan left Michael as Pete slowly slid into him, his cock wet and rock hard. Michael wrapped his legs around Pete's body, digging his bony heels encouragingly into his backside.

Pete wanted to tell Michael how good he felt inside of him but no coherent words left his lips. There were just the throws of pleasure emitting, loud and needy and all consuming.

Michael's thin frame rocked beneath Pete's thrusts and the whole bed shuddered in their wake. Pete pressed his palms into Michael's belly, sure he could feel the subtle bulge as his cock was buried deep into that thin belly of the guttural, moaning man. Michael wanted to reach out and draw Pete down onto him, perhaps kiss him, but his arms felt muscless, like his strength was stripped from him by the pleasure that consumed his body.

“Pe,” Michael gasped, his lips his last hope. “Pete--, uhn!”and Pete's eyes opened, falling upon Michael's needy expression. “I luh,” Michael swallowed, oh fuck. “I--”

But Pete leaned forward like he wanted, spreading Michael's legs wider and penetrating deeper. Fingertips traced the dots on Michael's thigh while Pete's other hand reached to stroke that pale, thin throat. Pete's thumb pressed gently into Michael's Adam’s apple.

“Me too,” Pete breathed raggedly and the tone in his voice set Michael ablaze. His thin fingers gripped the sheet and heels dug into Pete, finding some semblance of strength with his fast approaching release. Michael's breathy pants turned into throaty sobs with Pete's following few thrusts and he lost himself. Pete groaned hard against Michael's chest, losing his ability to hold himself upright, his hips moving with sharp thrusts as he spent himself.

Pete let his weight relax on Michael, listening to the heartbeat against his ear sooth away his orgasmic blindness. He slipped out of Michael with a subtle shift to the side and Pete tossed the condom behind him, hopefully in the general direction of the waste basket. He didn't bother to clean them, assuming Michael was too distracted for his compulsions to kick in. They lay motionless beside one another, only moving when Pete entwined his fingers with Michael's, then once more when they grew too chilly without the covers.

“Your blankets will get dirty,” Michael protested breathlessly.

“Let them, they can be washed tomorrow,” Pete whispered sleepily.

“I wish you could stay inside of me forever,” Michael mumbled, his thoughts disjointed as he descended slowly from consciousness. Pete chuckled next to him, rolling to lay one leg across Michael's, and an arm across his bony chest. He nipped at Michael's pierced ear with his lips until he grew so incoherent he couldn't continue.

“You'll always be inside of me,” Pete uttered huskily. “Maybe not physically,” he could just barely say. “But-,” he tried to finish as sleep tried to sweep his thoughts away, “And I'll be in you,” he finished, the fingers of his hand twitching on Michael's chest to emphasize his meaning.

“I just,” Michael whispered as he glanced down at Pete's closed eyes. “I just couldn't stand you pushing me away again,” he uttered almost inaudibly, grateful Pete's breathing was already leveling with sleep. Michael kissed Pete's forehead before sighing happily as sleep took him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may expand upon this story in the future, but for now it will remain at 10 chapters since school is fast approaching and will consume my time.  
> Thank you all so much for reading and those lovely kudos! You guys rock.  
> Also, for the full version of my silly fanart visit [Parade Goths](http://killjoynervosa.deviantart.com/art/Parade-Goths-470274664?ga_submit_new=10%253A1406161185)


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